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(( 


HOW SWEET THE BREATH BENEATH THE HILL OF SHARON'S LOVELY ROSE.” 


SKI 


Mr. Pat’s Little Girl 


A Story of the Arden Foresters 


BY 

S 

MARY F. LEONARD 

AUTHOR OF “THE SPECTACLE MAN,” ETC. 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY CHASE EMERSON 





W. A. WILDE COMPANY 


BOSTON AND CHICAGO 








Yll 
, U *' 6 


THF LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 
Tmto Cowed Received 

AUG. 22 1902 


^COPVPIGHT E* T P V 

t*0‘u 
Class ol- xxc no. 
^ wf. T_ Lf* 
CO^Y 3. 


Copyright , 1902, 

By W. A. Wilde Company. 
All rights reserved. 


Mr. Pat’s Little Girl. 
















t 


TO 

A. E. F. 

IN LOVING MEMORY 
THIS STORY IS DEDICATED 
BY HER NIECE 


t 













CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 


I. Things begin to Happen .n 



“ A magician most profound in his art'' 


II. 

On the Other Side of the Hedge . 

" Give me leave to speak my mind." 

. 21 

III. 

Friendship. 

“ True it is that we have seen better days." 

• 32 

IV. 

An Unquiet Morning. 

" You amaze me, ladies l" 

. 41 

V. 

Maurice. 

“ The stubbornness of fortune 


VI. 

Puzzles . 

“ How weary are my spirits." 


VII. 

The Magician makes Tea .... 

" If that love or gold 

Can in this place buy entertainment, 

Bring us where we may rest ourselves and feed? 

• 74 

VIII. 

“To meet Rosalind”. 

“ Put you in your best array? 

. 85 

IX. 

The Lost Ring. 

“ Wear this for me." 

. 100 

X. 

Celia. 

“ One out of suits with fortune? 


XI. 

Making Friends. 

“ Is not that neighborly ? " 

. 118 

XII. 

The Gilpin Place. 

“ This is the Forest of Arden? 

. 127 

XIII. 

In Patricia’s Arbor. 

“ O, how full of briers is this working-day world." 

. 141 

XIV. 

The Arden Foresters. 

“ Like the old Robin Hood of England." 

. 147 







CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER 



PAGE 

XV. 

A New Member . 

“ In the circle of this forest." 

• 

158 

XVI. 

Reciprocity. 

“ Take upon command what we have." 

• 

171 

XVII. 

A New Comrade . 

“ I know you are a gentleman of good conceit ." 

• 

182 

XVIII. 

An Imprisoned Maiden .... 

“ The house doth keep itself 

There's none within .” 

• 

I98 

XIX. 

Old Acquaintance. 

"And there begins my sadness." 

• 

212 

XX. 

The Spinet. 

“ Thou art not for the fashion of these times." 

• 

222 

XXL 

“Under the Greenwood Tree” 

“ Must you then be proud and pitiless?" 

• 

229 

XXII. 

Circumstantial Evidence 
“ I sometimes do believe and sometimes do not." 

• 

242 

XXIII. 

The Detective . 

“ ’ Twas I, but 'tis not I." 

• 

254 

XXIV. 

At the Auction . 

“ Assuredly the thing is to be soldi' 

r 

265 

XXV. 

Questions . 

“ They asked one another the reason." 


276 

XXVI. 

The President . 

“ — And good in everything .” 

• 

284 

XXVII. 

Old Enemies . 

" Kindness nobler ever than revengeT 

• 

294 

XXVIII. 

Better than Dreams .... 

“ I like this place." 

• 

298 

XXIX. 

At the Magician’s . 

“ I would have you." 

• 

308 

XXX. 

Oak Leaves . 

“ Bid me farewell." 

• 

319 




ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE 

“ i How sweet the breath beneath the hill 


Of Sharon’s lovely rose 111 

Frontispiece 12 

Do you know Miss Betty ?” 

00 

Looking up, he discovered his visitors 11 

• 153 

They crossed over to speak to her 11 . 

. 193 

She chose a chest of drawers 11 . 

. 268 



Mr. Pat’s Little Girl, 


CHAPTER FIRST. 

THINGS BEGIN TO HAPPEN. 

** A magician most profound in his art.” 

I T was Sunday afternoon. The griffins on the 
doorstep stared straight before them with an 
expression of utter indifference; the feathery 
foliage of the white birch swayed gently back 
and forth; the peonies lifted their crimson heads 
airily; the snowball bush bent under the weight 
of its white blooms till it swept the grass; the 
fountain splashed softly. 

“ 1 By cool Siloam’s shady rill 
How fair the lily grows,’ ” 

Rosalind chanted dreamily. 

Grandmamma had given her the hymn book, 
telling her to choose a hymn and commit it to 
memory, and as she turned the pages this had 
caught her eye and pleased her fancy. 


12 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


“ It sounds like the Forest of Arden,” she said, 
leaning back on the garden bench and shutting 
her eyes. 

u 1 How sweet the breath beneath the hill 
Of Sharon’s lovely rose.’ ” 

She swung her foot in time to the rhythm. She 
was not sure whether a rill was a fountain or a 
stream, so she decided, as there was no dictionary 
convenient, to think of it as like the creek where 
it crossed the road at the foot of Red Hill. 

Again she looked at the book; skipping a stanza, 
she read: — 

“ 1 By cool Siloam’s shady rill 
The lily must decay ; 

The rose that blooms beneath the hill 
Must shortly pass away.’ ” 

The melancholy of this was interesting; at the 
same time it reminded her that she was lonely. 
After repeating, “Must shortly pass away/’ her 
eyes unexpectedly filled with tears. 

“ Now I am not going to cry,” she said sternly, 
and by way of carrying out this resolve she again 
closed her eyes tight. It was desperately hard 
work, and she could not have told whether two 
minutes or ten had passed when she was startled 


THINGS BEGIN TO HAPPEN. 


3 


by an odd, guttural voice close to her asking, 
“What is the matter, little girl?” 

If the voice was strange, the figure she saw 
when she looked up was stranger still. A gaunt 
old man in a suit of rusty black, with straggling 
gray hair and beard, stood holding his hat in his 
hand, gazing at her with eyes so bright they made 
her uneasy. 

“ Nothing,” she answered, rising hastily. 

But the visitor continued to stand there and 
smile at her, shaking his head and repeating, 
“ Mustn’t cry.” 

“ I am not crying,” Rosalind insisted, glancing 
over her shoulder to make sure of a way of escape. 

With a long, thin finger this strange person now 
pointed toward the house, saying something she 
understood to be an inquiry for Miss Herbert. 

Miss Herbert was the housekeeper, and Rosa¬ 
lind knew she was at church; but when she tried 
to explain, the old man shook his head, and taking 
from his pocket a tablet with a pencil attached, 
he held it out to her, touching his ear as he 
uttered the one word “ Deaf.” 

Rosalind understood she was to write her an¬ 
swer, and somewhat flurried she sat down on the 


14 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


edge of the bench and with much deliberation and 
in large clear letters conveyed the information, 
“She is out.” 

The old man looked at the tablet and then at 
Rosalind, bowing and smiling as if well pleased. 
“ You’ll tell her I’m going to the city to-morrow ? ” 
he asked. 

There was something very queer in the way 
he opened his mouth and used his tongue, Rosa¬ 
lind thought, as she nodded emphatically, feel¬ 
ing that this singular individual had her at an 
unfair advantage. At least she would find out 
who he was, and so, as she still held the tablet, 
she wrote, “ What is your name ? ” 

He laughed as if this were a joke, and search¬ 
ing in his pocket, produced a card which he 
presented with a bow. On it was printed 
“C. J. Morgan, Cabinet Work.” 

“ What is your name ? ” he asked. 

Rosalind hesitated. She was not sure it at 
all concerned this stranger to know her name, 
but as he stood smiling and waiting, she did 
not know how to refuse; so she bent over the 
tablet, her yellow braid falling over her shoulder, 
as she wrote, “ Rosalind Patterson Whittredge.” 


THINGS BEGIN TO HAPPEN. 


15 


“ Mr. Pat’s daughter ? ” There was a twinkle 
in the old man’s eye, and surprise and delight 
in his voice. 

Rosalind sprang up, her own eyes shining. 
“ How stupid of me! ” she cried. “ Why, you 
must be the magician, and you have a funny 
old shop, where father used to play when he 
was little. Oh, I hope you will let me come to 
see you! ” Suddenly remembering the tablet, 
she looked at it despairingly. She couldn’t write 
half she wished to say. 

Morgan, however, seemed to understand pretty 
clearly, to judge from the way he laughed and 
asked if Mr. Pat was well. 

Rosalind nodded and wrote, “ He has gone 
to Japan.” 

“ So far ? Coming home soon ? ” 

With a mournful countenance she shook her 
head. 

Morgan stood looking down on her with a 
smile that no longer seemed uncanny. Indeed, 
there was something almost sweet in the rugged 
face as he repeated, “Mr. Pat’s little girl, well, 
well,” as if it were quite incredible. 

Rosalind longed to ask at least a dozen ques- 


16 MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 

tions, but it is dampening to one’s ardor to have 
to spell every word, and she only nodded and 
smiled in her turn as she handed back the 
tablet. 

“ I wish father had taught me to talk on 
my fingers,” she thought, feeling that one branch 
of her education had been neglected. “ Perhaps 
Uncle Allan will, when he comes.” 

She watched the odd figure till it disappeared 
around a turn in the trim garden path, then 
she picked up the big red pillow which had 
fallen on the grass, and replacing it in one cor¬ 
ner of -the bench, curled herself up against it. 
The hymn book lay forgotten. 

“ I believe things are really beginning to hap¬ 
pen,” she said to herself. “You need not pre¬ 
tend they are not, for they are,” she added, 
shaking her finger at the griffins with their pro¬ 
voking lack of expression. “You wouldn’t make 
friends with anybody, not to save their lives, 
and it seemed as if I were never to get ac¬ 
quainted with a soul, when here I have met the 
magician in the most surprising way. And to 
think I didn’t know him ! ” 

The dream spirit was abroad in the garden. 


j 

v 


THINGS BEGIN TO HAPPEN. 17 

Across the lawn the shadows made mysterious 
progress; the sunlight seemed sifted through an 
enchanted veil, and like the touch of fairy fin¬ 
gers was the summer breeze against Rosalind’s 
cheek, as with her head against the red pillow, 
she travelled for the first time in her life back 
into the past. 

Back to the dear old library where two stu¬ 
dents worked, and where from the windows 
one could see the tiled roofs of the university. 
Back to the world of dreams where dwelt that 
friendly host of story-book people, where only 
a few short weeks ago Friendship, too, with its 
winding shady streets and this same stately gar¬ 
den and the griffins, had belonged as truly as 
did the Forest where that other Rosalind, loveli¬ 
est of all story people, wandered. 

Friendship was no longer a dream, and Rosa¬ 
lind, her head against the red pillow, was begin¬ 
ning to think that dreams were best. 

“ If we choose, we may travel always in the 
Forest, where the birds sing and the sunlight 
sifts through the trees.” 

These words of Cousin Louis’s in his intro¬ 
duction to the old story pleased Rosalind’s fancy. 


18 MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 

She liked to shut her eyes and think of the 
Forest and the brave-hearted company gathered 
there, and always this brought before her the 
fair face of the miniature on her father’s desk 
and a faint, sweet memory of clasping arms. 

When the doctor with a grave face had said 
that only rest and change of scene could restore 
Cousin Louis’s health, and when Rosalind un¬ 
derstood that this must mean for her separation 
from both her dear companions, it was to the 
Forest she had turned. 

“ I’ll pretend I am banished like Rosalind in 
the story,” she had said, leaning against her 
father’s shoulder, as he looked over the proofs 
of “ The Life of Shakespeare ” on which Cousin 
Louis had worked too hard. “Then I’ll know I 
am certain to find you sometime.” 

Her father’s arm had drawn her close, — she 
liked to recall it now, and how, when she 
added, “ But I wish I had Celia and Touchstone 
to go with me,” he had answered, “You are 
certain to find pleasant people in the Forest of 
Arden, little girl.” And putting aside the proofs, 
he had talked to her of her grandmother and 
the old town of Friendship. 


THINGS BEGIN TO HAPPEN. 


19 


She had been almost a week in Friendship 
now, and — well, things were not altogether 
as she had pictured them. Silver locks and 
lace caps, arm-chairs and some sort of fluffy 
knitting work, had been a part of her idea of 
a grandmother, and lo! her own grandmother 
was erect and slender, with not a thread of 
gray in her dark hair, nor a line in her hand¬ 
some face. 

She was kind — oh, yes, but so sad in her 
heavy crepe. Aunt Genevieve in her trailing 
gowns was charming to behold, but no more 
company for Rosalind — at least not much more 
— than the griffins. Miss Herbert was not a 
merry, comfortable person like their own Mrs. 
Browne at home. The house was very quiet. 
The garden was beautiful, but she longed to be 
outside its tall iron gates; and she longed — 
how she longed — for her old companions ! 

Cousin Louis had given her her favorite 
story in a binding of soft leather, delicious to 
hold against one’s cheek, and her father had 
added a copy of the beautiful miniature. With 
these treasures she had set out upon her journey. 
But she had begun to feel as if in the great 


20 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


Forest she had lost her way, when the friendly 
face of the magician reassured her. 

The sound of sweeping draperies broke in 
upon her thoughts. It was Aunt Genevieve, 
and she had not learned her hymn. Picking up 
her book, she stole swiftly across the grass till 
she was hidden by some tall shrubbery. Before 
her was a high hedge of privet; beyond it, among 
the trees, the chimneys of a red brick house. 

Walking back and forth, Rosalind began to 
study in earnest. Looking first at her book and 
then up at the blue sky, she repeated: — 

“ ‘ Lo! such the child whose early feet 
The paths of peace have trod, 

Whose secret heart with influence sweet 
Is upward drawn to God.’ ” 


CHAPTER SECOND. 


ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE HEDGE. 

“ Give me leave to speak my mind.” 

HERE was another garden on the other 



-L side of the hedge; not so large, nor so 
beautifully kept perhaps, but a pleasant gar¬ 
den, for all that. The red brick house to 
which it belonged was by no means so stately 
as the one whose doorstep the griffins guarded, 
yet it had an importance all its own. On week 
days, when the heavy shutters on the lower front 
windows were open, The National Bank of Friend¬ 
ship was to be seen in gilt letters on the glass; 
on Sundays, however, when they were closed, 
there was little to suggest that it was anything 
more than a private dwelling. It was a square, 
roomy house, and the part not in use for bank 
purposes was occupied by the cashier, Mr. Mil- 
ton Roberts, and his family. 


21 


22 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


While Rosalind, curled up on the garden seat, 
was thinking of home, Maurice Roberts lay in the 
hammock under the big maple near the side 
porch, where his mother and Miss Betty Bishop 
sat talking. He held a book, but instead of read¬ 
ing was allowing himself the lazy entertainment 
of listening to their conversation. 

From his position, a little behind the visitor, 
he had an excellent view of her as she sat erect 
in the wicker chair, her parasol across her lap. 
Miss Betty was plump and short, and had a 
dimple in her chin. Her hair, which was turn¬ 
ing gray, waved prettily back from her forehead 
into the thickest of braids, and altogether there 
was a pleasant air of crispness about her; though 
something in the keenness of her glance, or the 
firmness with which her lips met, suggested 
that on occasion she might be unyielding. 
“The Barnwell stubbornness,” she herself would 
have explained, with the same complacency she 
manifested when displaying her grandmother’s 
tea-set. 

Mrs. Roberts, Maurice’s mother, was a gentle 
person, with large, soft eyes and a quiet manner. 

The preliminary conversation had not been 


ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE HEDGE. 23 

interesting, pertaining chiefly to flowers and the 
weather, and Maurice gave a sigh of satisfaction 
when, after a moment’s pause, Miss Betty straight¬ 
ened herself and remarked, “Well, I hear the 
will is certain to be sustained.” 

“Then the property will have to be sold?” 
questioned Mrs. Roberts. 

“Yes, and I may as well say good-by to the 
cream-jug and sugar-dish that Cousin Anne al¬ 
ways said should be mine. Still, I never shall 
believe Cousin Thomas was out of his mind when 
he made that last will, it was too much like him. 
Dear knows it ought to be broken, but not on 
that ground. It was a case of pure spite.” 

“Oh, Betty!” 

Maurice smiled to himself at his mother’s 
tone. 

“ I assure you it was. I knew Cousin Thomas. 
Didn’t Cousin Anne tell me dozens of times in 
his presence, ‘Betty, this is your cream-jug and 
sugar-dish, because they match your teapot’?” 

“I should think you had enough silver, Betty; 
still it was a shame Miss Anne left that list 
unsigned,” said Mrs. Roberts. 

“If you knew Cousin Anne at all, Mrs. 


24 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


Roberts, you knew how hesitating she was. She 
couldn’t decide whether to leave the Canton china 
to Ellen Marshall or to Tom’s wife. She changed 
her mind any number of times, but she was 
always clear about my cream-jug and sugar- 
dish. If Cousin Thomas had had any decency, 
he would have considered her wishes. Think 
of my own grandmother’s things put up at pub¬ 
lic auction! ” 

“ Most of Mr. Gilpin’s money goes to the hos¬ 
pital, I suppose,” remarked Mrs. Roberts. 

“ Pretty much everything but the real estate 
in and around Friendship, and the contents of 
the house, all of which will have to be sold and 
divided among his first cousins or their heirs. 
The only bequests made besides the money to 
the hospital are to Celia Fair and Allan Whit- 
tredge. Celia is to have the spinet, and Allan 
that beautiful old ring, if ever it comes to light 
again. I wish Cousin Thomas had left Celia 
some money. She was one person for whom 
he had a little affection.” 

Maurice wished so too. He admired Miss Celia 
Fair, and felt it was too bad she should get only 
an antiquated piano. 


ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE HEDGE. 25 

“ Are the Fairs related to the Gilpins ? ” his 
mother asked. Not being a native of Friendship, 
she had difficulty in mastering the intricacies of 
its relationships. 

It was ground upon which Miss Betty was 
entirely at home, however. “They were kin to 
Cousin Thomas’s wife,” she explained. “ Mrs. 
Fair’s grandmother was half-sister to Cousin 
Emma’s mother, and raised Cousin Emma as 
her own child. Of course it is not very near 
when it comes to Celia. The spinet belonged 
to old Mrs. Johnson, — Celia’s great-grandmother, 
you know, — whose name was also Celia. Saint 
Cecilia they used to call her, because she was so 
good and played and sang so sweetly. It is right 
the spinet should go to Celia, but that would 
not have influenced Cousin Thomas a minute if 
he had not wished her to have it.” 

“And the ring has never been heard of?” 
Mrs. Roberts asked, as her visitor paused for 
breath. 

“ I doubt if it ever comes to light. It is nearly 
three years now since it disappeared,” was the 
reply. Miss Betty looked up at the vines above 
her head, and her lips curled into a sort of 


2 6 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


half smile. “ I should like to hear Cousin 
Ellen Whittredge on the will,” she added. “ I 
don’t think she cares much about the money, 
however; it is more that old feeling against 
Dr. Fair. You remember he testified to Mr. 
Gilpin’s sanity.” 

“ And her son ? ” asked Mrs. Roberts. 

“ Allan ? It is hard to find out what Allan 
thinks, but there is no bitterness in him. He 
is like his father, poor man! What I am 
curious to know is, what Cousin Thomas meant 
by saying in his will that Allan knew his wishes 
in regard to the ring. That strikes me as a 
little sensational. I asked Allan about it the 
last time I saw him, but he only laughed and 
said he’d have to get it before he could dispose 
of it.” 

Miss Betty now made some motions preliminary 
to rising, but as if on second thought, she laid 
her parasol across her knees again and asked, 
“ Have you heard that Patterson’s daughter is 
here?” 

“ Yes, I think I saw her in the carriage with 
her grandmother yesterday,” was Mrs. Roberts’s 


ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE HEDGE. 27 

This was news to Maurice, and he listened with 
interest. 

Miss Betty shook her head. “ I am surprised,” 
she said. “That marriage of Patterson’s was a 
dreadful blow to Cousin Ellen.” 

“It seems to me she was unreasonable about 
it. I am glad she sent for him before his father 
died.” Mrs. Roberts spoke with some hesitation. 
She did not often array her own opinions against 
those of her friends. 

“ I don’t blame her as some do. A person of 
that sort, and Patterson the very light of her 
eyes! How would you feel if Maurice some day 
should do a thing like that?” 

Maurice laughed softly. His thoughts were 
not much occupied with marriage. His mother 
ignored the question, and in her turn asked, “ Did 
Mrs. Whittredge ever see her daughter-in-law ? ” 

“ No, indeed. This child was not more than 
three when she died.” 

“ Poor little thing! ” Mrs. Roberts sighed. 

“ Such a name ! I detest fancy names. Rosa¬ 
lind ! ” Miss Betty rose. 

“ A good old English name and very pretty, I 
think. Was it her mother’s ? ” 


28 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


“ I suppose so, but I don’t know. Yes, I must 
go; Sophy will think I am lost. Good-by,” and 
Miss Betty stepped briskly down the path. 

The gate had hardly closed when Maurice 
heard some one calling him. Looking over his 
shoulder, he saw his sister Katherine beckoning. 

“ Maurice, Maurice, do come here; I want you 
to see something.” 

Her tone impressed him as unduly mysterious. 
“ What is it ? ” he asked indifferently. 

“ Come, and I’ll show you.” 

“ I sha’n’t come till you tell me,” he persisted. 

“ Oh, I think you might, because if I stop to 
tell you she may be gone.” 

“Who’ll be gone? You might have told it 
twice over in this time.” 

“ The girl I want you to see,” explained Kath¬ 
erine, drawing nearer in desperation. “Did you 
know there was a girl next door?” 

“Yes, of course.” There was nothing in 
Maurice’s tone to indicate how brief a time had 
passed since this information had been acquired. 

“ Truly ? I don’t believe it,” Katherine faltered. 

“ She is Mrs. Whittredge’s granddaughter, and 
her name is Rosalind, so now! ” 


ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE HEDGE. 29 

Privately, Katherine thought her brother’s 
power of finding things out, little short of super¬ 
natural. “ Don’t you want to see her ? ” she 
asked meekly. “There is a thin place in the 
hedge behind the calycanthus bush, and she is 
walking to and fro studying something.” Would 
Maurice declare he had already seen this girl ? 

Maurice sat up and reached for a crutch that 
rested against the tree. He had his share of 
curiosity. He was a tall, well-grown boy of thir¬ 
teen, and it was apparent as he swung himself 
after Katherine, that accident and not disease had 
caused his lameness. 

Rosalind, studying her hymn all unconscious of 
observation, was a pleasant sight. 

“ Isn’t she pretty ? ” whispered Katherine, but 
Maurice silenced her so sternly she concluded 
he did not agree with her. 

In reality he thought very much as she did, 
although he would not have used the same adjec¬ 
tive. There was something unusual about this 
girl. Why it was, he did not understand, but she 
seemed somehow to belong in a special way to the 
sweet old garden with its June roses. Maurice 
had fancies that would have astonished Katherine 


30 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


beyond measure if she could have known any¬ 
thing about them. But how was she to know 
when he pinched her arm and looked sternly 
indifferent ? 

The tea bell called them back to the house; 
on the way Katherine’s enthusiasm burst forth 
afresh. 

“ Isn’t she sweet ? and such a beautiful name 
— Rosalind. How old do you think she is ? and 
do you suppose she is going to live there ? 
Oh, Maurice, shouldn’t you be afraid of Mrs. 
Whittredge ? ” 

“ I don’t know anything about her,” Maurice 
replied, forgetting for the moment that he had 
been pretending to know a great deal. 

“I should like to have my hair tied on top 
of my head with a big ribbon bow as hers is,” 
continued Katherine, who would innocently per¬ 
sist in laying herself open to brotherly scorn. 

“ I suppose you think you will look like her 
then,” was his retort. 

“Now, Maurice, I don’t. I know I am not 
pretty.” Katherine’s round face grew suddenly 
long, and tears filled her blue eyes. 

“ Don’t be a goose, then. I’ll tell you what 


ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE HEDGE. 31 


she made me think of, that statue of Joan of 
Arc — don’t you remember? Where she is 
listening to the voices ? We saw it at the 
Academy of Fine Arts.” 

“ Why, Maurice, how funny! She is much 
prettier than that,” said Katherine. 


CHAPTER THIRD. 

FRIENDSHIP. 

“True it is that we have seen better days.” 

A RAMBLING, sleepy town was Friendship, 
with few aspirations beyond the traditions 
of its grandfathers and a fine indifference toward 
modern improvements. 

During the era of monstrous creations in 
black walnut it had clung to its old mahogany 
and rosewood, and chromos had never displaced 
in its affections the time-worn colored prints of 
little Samuel or flower-decked shepherdesses. In 
consequence of this conservatism Friendship one 
day awoke in the fashion. 

There were fine old homes in Friendship 
which in their soft-toned browns and grays 
seemed as much a part of the landscape as the 
forest trees that surrounded them and shaded 
the broad street. Associated with these man- 


32 


FRIENDSHIP. 


33 

sions were names dignified and substantial, such 
as Moles worth, Parton, Gilpin, Whittredge. 

In times past the atmosphere of the village 
had seemed to be pervaded by something of 
the spirit of its name, for here life flowed on 
serenely in old grooves and its ways were the 
peaceful ways of friendship. But of late years, 
alas! something alien and discordant had 
crept in. 

“‘And what is Friendship but a name — 

quoted the cabinet-maker sadly one morning 
when after climbing the hill from the wharf he 
paused to rest on the low stone wall surround¬ 
ing the Gilpin place. 

Landing Lane ended at the top of the hill, 
and here at right angles to it the Main Street 
of Friendship might be said to begin, slowly 
descending to a level and following the lei¬ 
surely curves of the old stage road till it 
came to a straggling end at the foot of another 
prominence known as Red Hill. 

In forty years a life takes deep root, and this 
time had passed since Morgan, a raw Scotch 
boy of eighteen, had come to Friendship as 


34 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


assistant to the village cabinet-maker. A year or 
two later an illness deprived him of his hearing, 
but fortunately not of his skill, and upon the 
death of his employer he succeeded to the busi¬ 
ness, his kindly, simple nature, together with his 
misfortune, having won the heart of Friendship. 

His fame for making and doing over furni¬ 
ture had spread beyond the borders of the 
town; his opinion was valued highly by collect¬ 
ors, and it was said he might have made a for¬ 
tune in the city. But what use had he for a 
fortune ? It was the friendly greetings, the 
neighborly kindnesses, the comradeship with the 
children of the village, that made his life. 

In spite of its rugged lines his face as he 
grew older had taken on a singularly sweet 
expression, but it was sad to-day as he sat on 
the wall in his knit jacket and work apron, 
looking down on the town, its roofs and spires 
showing amongst the trees. It seemed to him 
that the times were out of joint, and his cheer¬ 
ful philosophy was beginning to fail him. Some¬ 
thing had been wrong ever since Patterson 
Whittredge went away, more than a dozen years 


ago. 


FRIENDSHIP. 


35 


Morgan never failed to follow with interest 
the careers of the boys of Friendship as they 
went out into the world, and of all the boys of 
the village Patterson had been his favorite. He 
had understood the trouble as well as if it had 
been carefully explained to him. His deafness 
had quickened his insight. A girl’s lovely face 
on Pat’s dressing-table, seen when he replaced 
a broken caster, partly told the story, and Mrs. 
Whittredge’s pride and determination were no 
secret to any one. 

Judge Whittredge’s whitening head and heavy 
step, his fruitless search for health abroad, his 
return to die at last in his old home, Patterson’s 
coming, — sent for by his heart-broken mother, — 
this was the rest of the story. But before this 
family difference had been settled by the stern 
hand of death, the removal of Thomas Gilpin 
had precipitated another quarrel upon the town. 

It was a puzzle to Morgan that a man like 
his old friend Mr. Gilpin, who had it in his 
power to do so much good, should have chosen 
to do harm instead. As he rose to go, he 
looked over his shoulder at the old house, closed 
and deserted since the death of its owner. 


36 MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 

The site was a beautiful one, commanding a 
view of valley and hill and the narrow winding 
river. The house, an unpretentious square of 
red brick, with sloping roof and dormer windows, 
wore its hundred years with dignity, and amid 
its fine trees was an object of interest to strangers, 
of pride to the villagers. 

Below it on the slope stood a more modern 
house, in what had been until recently a hand¬ 
some garden. Morgan as he passed recalled 
how proud Dr. Fair had been of his flowers. 
Celia, who was entering the gate, nodded and 
smiled brightly. He noted, however, that her 
face was losing its soft curves and rose tints. 
Celia was another of his favorites, and he knew 
she was having her battle with misfortune, meet¬ 
ing it as bravely as a young woman could. 
Thomas Gilpin might so easily have smoothed 
the way for her. The spinet was an interesting 
heirloom, no doubt, but would not help Celia 
solve the problem of bread and butter. 

The shop of the cabinet-maker was just off 
Main Street, at the foot of the hill. To its 
original two rooms he had added two more, and 
here he lived with no companions but a striped 


FRIENDSHIP. 


37 

cat and a curly dog, who endured each other 
and shared the affection of their master. 

Morgan’s housekeeping was not burdensome. 
Certain of his neighbors always remembered him 
on baking day, and his tastes were simple. His 
shop opened immediately on the street; back of 
it was his living room and the small garden 
where he cultivated the gayest blooms. The 
living room had an open fireplace, for it was 
one of the cabinet-maker’s pleasures to sit in 
the firelight when the work of the day was 
over, and a small oil stove sufficed for his cook¬ 
ing. On one side of the chimney was a high- 
backed settle, and above it a book shelf. Like 
most Scotch boys, he had had a fair education, 
and possessed a genuine reverence for books 
and a love of reading. In the opposite corner 
was an ancient mahogany desk where he kept 
his accounts, and near by in the window a shelf 
always full of plants in the winter. A cupboard 
of his own manufacture, a table, a lamp, and 
an arm-chair completed the furniture of the room. 
The walls he had painted a dull red, and over 
the fireplace in fanciful letters had traced this 
motto: “Good in everything.” 


38 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


To this cheerful belief Morgan held firmly, 
although there were times like this morning, 
when coming out of the sunlight and feeling 
a little weary, he noticed that the walls were 
growing dingy and the motto dim, and sighed 
to think how hard it was to see the good in 
some things. 

He placed a paper in the old secretary and 
was turning toward the shop when he stopped 
short in amazement, for in the doorway stood 
Rosalind, her face full of eagerness. Behind her 
was Miss Herbert, whom Morgan entirely over¬ 
looked in his pleasure at seeing Mr. Pat’s little 
girl again. 

He shook hands warmly and offered the arm¬ 
chair, but Rosalind had no thought of sitting 
down. As she gazed with bright-eyed interest 
around the room, her glance fell on the motto, 
and she pointed to it and then to herself. 

The cabinet-maker was puzzled. “ Is it your 
motto?” he asked. 

She nodded brightly. 

Morgan turned to the shelf, took down a large 
volume of Shakespeare’s plays, and laying it on 
the table began to turn the pages rapidly. Rosa- 


FRIENDSHIP. 


39 


lind looked over his arm. He ran his finger 
down a leaf presently and pointed to the line. 
“There,” he said. 

Rosalind turned back a page and pointed to 
her own name, and then they both laughed as 
if it were a great coincidence. 

A sharp tap on his arm made Miss Herbert’s 
presence known to Morgan. Miss Herbert was 
not of Friendship. She knew the value of time 
if the cabinet-maker did not, and had no idea of 
waiting while he discussed Shakespeare in panto¬ 
mime with Rosalind. 

Miss Herbert with the aid of the tablet, and 
Morgan with many queer gestures to help out 
his faltering tongue, so long without the guide 
of hearing, contrived to despatch the business 
relating to a claw-footed sofa. When it was 
finished, Rosalind was missing, and was discovered 
in the little garden, making friends with the 
black poodle, while the striped cat looked on 
from the fence. 

It was with evident reluctance she accompanied 
Miss Herbert to the carriage. Before she left 
she took the tablet and wrote, “ I am going to 
learn to talk on my fingers.” 


40 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


“ Good,” the cabinet-maker answered, and he 
followed them to the street, smiling and nod¬ 
ding. “Come again,” he called as they drove 
away. 

When he returned to the shop, the world 
seemed brighter, the mist of doubt had lifted. 

“The rough places can’t last always,” he told 
himself as he sandpapered the claw toes of the 
sofa. “ We are certain to come to a turn in the 
lane after a while. There’s good in everything, 
somewhere.” 

Perhaps the coming of Mr. Pat’s little girl was 
a good omen. To him at least it was a most 
interesting event, nor was he the only person in 
Friendship who found it so. 


CHAPTER FOURTH. 

AN UNQUIET MORNING. 

“ You amaze me, ladies.” 

F ARTHER up the street on the other side, 
but within sight of the Whittredges’, was 
Mrs. Graham’s Boarding and Day School for 
Young Ladies. 

The broad, one story and a half mansion, with 
rooms enough for a small hotel, was still known 
as the Bishop place, although nearly twenty years 
had passed since the little brown and white house 
on Church Street had opened its doors to Miss 
Betty and her invalid father, and to such of the 
massive furniture as could be accommodated within 
its walls. In her circular Mrs. Graham was care¬ 
ful to state that her school was commodiously 
housed in the mansion of the late distinguished 
Senator Charlton H. Bishop, and many a daughter 
groaned over her algebra or French verbs in the 
very room where her mother or grandmother be- 


41 


42 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


fore her had fleeted the time carelessly in even¬ 
ings long past, for brilliant was the tradition of 
the Bishop hospitality. 

Celia Fair, who taught drawing in the school, 
and on occasion kept study hour in what had 
once been the long drawing-room, had a fancy 
that the spirit of those days was responsible for 
many an outburst of mischief At present Mrs. 
Graham’s pupils were in a fever of curiosity over 
the new arrival at the Whittredges’. 

The Whittredge place had been invested by 
them with something of a halo of romance, 
founded chiefly on the seclusion in which it 
pleased Mrs. Whittredge to live. Bits of gossip 
let fall by their elders were eagerly treasured; it 
became the fashion to rave over the beauty of the 
haughty Miss Genevieve, and even her brother 
who was not haughty, but quite like other people, 
was allowed a share of the halo on account of his 
connection with the lost ring, made famous by the 
contested will. 

Katherine Roberts, returning to school after 
several days’ absence, found herself unusually 
popular. Katherine lived next door to the un¬ 
known ; she had seen her; it was even said she 


AN UNQUIET MORNING. 


43 


had heard her speak. Excitement grew as the 
news spread. 

The girls were standing in groups on the porch 
and steps, laughing and talking together, and at 
sight of Katherine gave her an uproarious greet¬ 
ing. 

Round, rosy-faced, blue-eyed Katherine, with 
her brown hair in two tight plaits turned under 
and tied with a ribbon behind her ears, was a 
little abashed at the attention she excited. 

“ What is she like, Katherine ? tell us — the 
new girl at the Whittredges’.” 

“ She is standing at the gate now,” answered 
Katherine, looking over her shoulder. 

“ Is she ? Oh, where ? ” 

“ Let’s walk by and see her.” 

“ We’ll be tardy if we do, and at any rate there 
is the carriage; perhaps they will drive past.” 

“ Look! there’s Miss Genevieve. No, they are 
going the other way.” 

“ What are you staring at ? ” demanded Belle 
Parton, joining the group. Belle was a gypsy¬ 
looking girl with merry black eyes, and hair that 
refused to be smooth like Katherine’s, but con¬ 
tinually fell in her eyes. As she spoke she put 


44 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


her hat on the step and proceeded to adjust the 
round comb she wore. 

“The Whittredge girl. Have you seen her, 
Belle ? ” asked Charlotte Ellis. 

“No; what is she like?” 

“ Katherine is the only one who has seen her; 
she says she is lovely.” 

“Oh, she is! You ought to see her, Belle. 
Maurice and I peeped through the hedge and 
saw her walking to and fro studying something. 
And her name is Rosalind. Isn’t that a beautiful 
name ? ” 

“ I don’t believe she is much,” Belle announced, 
with a turn of her head. The only reason , she 
had for saying this was the naughty one of wish¬ 
ing to snub Katherine, who took everything in 
earnest and now looked crestfallen. 

“Never mind, Kit; tell us some more about 
her,” urged one of the others. 

“Grandmamma says she is surprised at Mrs. 
Whittredge’s having her here. You know she 
would have nothing to do with her son after 
he married, until lately, and she never saw her 
granddaughter before. I think family quarrels 
are awfully interesting; don’t you?” As Char- 




AN UNQUIET MORNING. 45 

lotte spoke, the bell rang, and the girls turned 
toward the house. 

“ Do you, Charlotte ? ” exclaimed Katherine, 
who was accustomed to pin her faith to her 
friend’s opinions, but thought that quarrels being 
wrong could not be interesting. 

“ I think so, too. They are so delightfully 
mysterious,” echoed another of the girls. 

“ Nonsense! What is there that is mysteri¬ 
ous ? ” put in pugnacious Belle. 

It may have been the alluring summer day, 
or the fact that it was near the end of the term, 
and discipline had relaxed, but certain it was 
that a general restlessness and inclination to 
whisper pervaded the study hour. It was the 
fashion among the girls to adore Celia Fair, and 
usually she had no difficulty in keeping order, 
but this morning even her presence was with¬ 
out effect. 

Belle Parton had her history propped up be¬ 
fore her in a way that suggested some mischief 
going on behind its shelter, rather than any 
serious study. Katherine, who was honestly 
trying to study, was distracted by the signals 
flying around her. Charlotte Ellis, whose seat 


46 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


was near the window, seemed principally occu¬ 
pied in peeping between the sash curtains. 

Celia had looked up for the second time to 
say, “ Girls, I must have better order,” and things 
had for several minutes quieted down, when 
Charlotte suddenly announced in a loud whis¬ 
per, “ Here they come! ” and with that there 
was a rush for the windows. 

The cause of the excitement was of course 
the Whittredge carriage, but all anybody caught 
was a fleeting glimpse of a white dress beside 
Miss Genevieve’s black one, and, as luck would 
have it, Mrs. Graham opened the door just in 
time to witness the scramble for a view. 

“Young ladies, you amaze me! What is the 
meaning of this ? ” she demanded, as the girls, 
half of whom had rushed because the others 
had, returned abashed to their seats. 

“ I never knew them to behave so before,” 
said Celia, in apology. “Something seems to 
be wrong to-day.” 

“ Wrong, indeed,” repeated Mrs. Graham, who 
was a person of somewhat majestic appearance. 
Then her glance fell on Belle’s desk. “And 
this explains the rapid disappearance of my 


AN UNQUIET MORNING. 


4 7 


chalk! ” she added, holding up to view a pen 
tray on which were arranged a number of tiny 
goblets and dishes neatly cut out of chalk. 

Katherine, who had not left her seat, laughed 
nervously. She stood in great awe of the prin¬ 
cipal, and she did not in the least wish to 
laugh. 

Mrs. Graham looked at her sternly. “ One 
mark in deportment, Katherine, and three to 
those who left their desks, and you will all spend 
your recess indoors. Belle, I will see you in 
the office.” 

Belle followed Mrs. Graham, with her head 
held high, her lips pursed up saucily, her black 
eyes snapping. Katherine, through her own 
tear-filled ones, watched her in astonishment. 

When Belle returned study hour was over, 
and the culprits who were condemned to stay 
indoors had grouped themselves beside the win¬ 
dow. 

“ What did she do to you, Belle ? ” they cried. 

“Nothing, — just talked. She said it was 
wasting time and chalk, and that it wasn’t hon¬ 
est. Such a fuss about a little chalk! ” 

Celia Fair, who had her hat on, ready to go 


48 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


home, came behind Belle, and with a hand on 
either side of her face she lifted it till the saucy 
eyes looked into her own. “ Does that make 
any difference, really — because it is just chalk?” 
she asked. 

Belle wriggled out of her hands, only to clasp 
her around the waist. “ I wouldn’t take your 
chalk,” she said, laughing. 

“ I don’t know what to think of you to-day,” 
Miss Fair continued, looking around the group. 
“ I am afraid Mrs. Graham will not trust me to 
keep study hour after this.” 

There was a general cry of, “ Oh, Miss Celia, 
why not ? ” 

“ Do you think she can have a high opinion of 
my ability to keep order ? ” 

“But no one else could do any better.” 

“ If Mrs. Graham had been here, you would not 
have rushed to the window, I know very well.” 

“ But we are so much fonder of you, Miss 
Celia,” urged Charlotte. 

“If that is the case I’d like you to show it by 
behaving,” said Celia, as she left the room. 

When Belle told at home about the day’s 
occurrences, her father laughed. 


AN UNQUIET MORNING. 


49 


“ I shall tell Mrs. Graham she must introduce 
manual training. ‘ Satan finds some mischief 
still,’ you see. Maybe Belle will turn out a fa¬ 
mous sculptor.” 

“ At any rate, colonel, you ought not to encour¬ 
age her in such pranks,” Mrs. Parton remarked, 
shaking her head at her husband, who never saw 
anything to criticise in the one little daughter 
among his five boys. 


E 


CHAPTER FIFTH. 


MAURICE. 

“ The stubbornness of fortune.” 

I T was the first of the month, and a steady- 
stream of people passed in and out of the 
bank. Maurice sat on the steps leading up to 
the private entrance, and with few exceptions 
each new-comer had a pleasant greeting or kindly 
inquiry for him. 

Miss Betty Bishop rustling out, bank book in 
hand, called, “ How are you, Maurice ? When are 
you and Katherine coming to take tea with me ? 
Let me know and I’ll have waffles.” 

The cabinet-maker came to the foot of the 
steps to ask about the lame knee, and shook his 
head in sympathy with Maurice’s doleful face. 

Colonel Parton, a tall, gray-mustached man, 
accompanied by two hunting dogs, hailed him: 
“Not going with the boys? Ah, I forgot your 
knee. Too bad! Jack’s got the dandiest new 
fishing-rod you ever saw.” 

50 

f 


MAURICE. 


51 

“As if I didn’t know it,” growled Maurice, as 
the colonel entered the bank. 

The next person to accost him was Miss Celia 
Fair. She hadn’t any bank business, but seeing 
Maurice as she passed, stopped to speak to him. 
She sat down beside him and tried in her pretty, 
soft way to cheer him. 

“Don’t look so gloomy, dear; you know if 
you are careful you will soon be all right again,” 
she said. 

At this Maurice poured forth all his disappoint¬ 
ment at not being able to go with the Parton 
boys on their excursion down the bay. 

“I am just as sorry for you as I can be,” said 
Celia, clasping her hands in her lap — such 
slender hands — and looking far away as if she 
were tired of everything near by. It was only 
for a moment, then she said with a little laugh, 
“You can’t possibly understand, Maurice, but I 
shouldn’t mind a sprained knee in the least; 
I think I could even enjoy it, if I hadn’t any 
more responsibility than you have.” 

“ But you don’t care to go fishing,” he suggested. 

“ Oh, yes, I do; I like to fish.” With a smile 
she said good-by, and went away. 


52 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


After this Maurice settled down into deeper 
despondency than before. He had refused an 
invitation to drive, had treated with bitter scorn 
Katherine’s suggestion that he might like to go 
out to the creek with her and Blossom. “ You 
could ride in the stage, you know, and have to 
walk only the least little bit,” she said. 

“ Thank you; it is such fun to throw stones in 
the water,” he replied, with elaborate politeness. 

That Maurice was badly spoiled was no secret. 
The only boy in the family, with bright, engag¬ 
ing ways when things went to please him, he 
had been petted and humored by his parents, 
given up to by Katherine, and treated as a leader 
by his boy friends, until he had come to look 
upon his own pleasure as the most important 
thing in the universe. Not that he realized 
this. He would have been greatly surprised to 
hear he was selfish. 

The accident by which his knee had been 
sprained severely was an experience as trying 
as it was new to him. At first the petting he 
received at home, and the attentions of his 
friends, added to his sense of importance and 
made it endurable, but this could not continue 


MAURICE. 


53 


indefinitely. Ball playing and other sports must 
go on, and Maurice, to his aggrieved surprise, 
found they could go on very well without him. 

This morning his mother had expostulated 
mildly. “ My son, you ought not to make your¬ 
self so miserable. You could not be more un¬ 
happy if you were to be lame always.” 

“ It is now I care about,” he replied petu¬ 
lantly. 

“ I don’t know what to do with Maurice,” he 
overheard her say to his father in the hall. 

“ Let him alone. I am ashamed of him,” was 
Mr. Roberts’s reply. 

And now, deserted and abused, Maurice was 
very miserable, and when he could stand L no 
longer he sought a distant spot in the garden 
and threw himself face down in the grass. 

He had been lying here some time when a 
voice apparently quite near asked, “ Have you 
hurt yourself ? ” 

Lifting his flushed, unhappy face, he saw peep¬ 
ing at him through the hedge the girl Katherine 
had been so interested in on Sunday. She, too, 
was lying on the grass, and her fair hair was 
spread out around her like a veil. Maurice 


54 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


raised himself on his elbow and surveyed her 
in surprise, forgetting to reply. 

“ What is the matter ? ” she asked again, look¬ 
ing at him with a pair of serious gray eyes, 

“Nothing,” he answered. 

The gray eyes grew merry. Rosalind laughed, 
as she said, “ Then you ought not to groan. I 
thought when I heard you, perhaps you had 
fallen from a tree.” 

“ I wasn’t groaning,” he protested, feeling 
ashamed. 

“ Maybe you call it sighing, but it was dread¬ 
fully deep.” 

“Well, I think a fellow has a right to sigh 
when he can’t do anything or go anywhere, and 
everybody else is having a good time.” Maurice 
felt anxious to vindicate himself. 

“ I am not having a good time,” said Rosa¬ 
lind, “ at least not very; but then you know if 
you stay in the Forest of Arden, something 
pleasant is bound to happen before long.” 

Maurice stared at her blankly. 

“Perhaps you don’t know the story,” Rosa¬ 
lind suggested. 

“ What story ? ” 


MAURICE. 


55 


“ Its real name is ‘ As You Like It,’ but I 
call it ‘ The Story of the Forest.’ ” 

“What is it about?” 

“ Oh, — about a banished duke, who lived in the 
Forest, like Robin Hood, you know, with a lot 
of people who were fond of him. He had a 
daughter, named Rosalind, and after a while she 
was banished too and went to look for her 
father in the Forest. Her cousin Celia and a 
funny clown, Touchstone, went with her, and 
they were all disguised. And — well, there is a 
great deal more to it — but they were all cheer¬ 
ful and brave — everybody is in the Forest of 
Arden, because they are sure there is good in 
everything if you only try to find it.” 

“But that is all a story. It isn’t true.” 

“Oh, yes, it is.” 

“There wasn’t a bit of good in hurting my 
knee and having the whole summer spoiled.” 
Maurice’s tone was undeniably fretful. 

“ If you had been banished as Rosalind was, 
I suppose you would not have thought there 
was any good in that; but she didn’t cry about 
it. She made the best of it, and had a good 
time in spite of it.” 


56 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


“ Who says I was crying ? ” Maurice demanded 
angrily. 

Rosalind opened her gray eyes wide, then she 
sat up and tossed back her hair. Maurice felt 
convicted of rudeness. Was she going? He 
hoped not, for he wished to talk to her. 

“ I suppose I am rather cross,” he acknowledged ; 
“ but don’t you think it is pretty hard to hurt your 
knee and have to walk with a crutch, and stay at 
home when the other boys go fishing ? ” 

“Yes, indeed. Does it hurt much?” Rosalind 
asked, with ready sympathy. 

“No, not now; it did at first, but the doctor 
says it will be five or six months before it is well 
again.” 

“ Then it isn’t for always ? That is something 
good.” 

Maurice somehow felt uncomfortable. He did 
not wish the emphasis laid on the good. It 
seemed wise to change the subject. “What a 
lot of hair you have,” he remarked. 

“ It has been washed, and grandmamma said 
I might dry it in the sun,” Rosalind explained, 
shaking her head so vigorously she was enveloped 
in a shining cloud. 


MAURICE. 


5 7 


“Isn’t it a great bother? Kit hates to have 
hers braided.” 

“Who is Kit?” 

“ She is my sister Katherine.” 

“ It must be nice to have a sister. I haven’t 
anybody but father and Cousin Louis, and of 
course they are better than any one else. There 
are grandmamma and Aunt Genevieve, but I am 
not very well acquainted with them yet. I should 
love to have some children related to me.” 

“ I have a little sister, too; her name is Blossom. 
That is, her real name is Mary, and we call her 
Blossom.” 

“ Kit and Blossom; and what is your name ? ” 
Rosalind asked. 

“ Maurice Roberts.” 

Rosalind tossed back her hair and began to 
twist it into a shining rope. “ I am Rosalind 
Whittredge,” she said. “ I should not think you 
would ever be unhappy,” she added. 

“Do you know, I saw you last Sunday when 
you were studying something. Kit and I peeped 
at you through the hedge.” 

“ I was learning a hymn for grandmamma. 
Why didn’t you speak to me?” 


58 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


“ I didn’t know whether you’d like it.” 

“ Why, of course I should have liked it. I was 
beginning to think that day I should never get 
acquainted with any one, and I was feeling dread¬ 
fully lonesome when the magician came in.” 

“ The magician ? ” Maurice exclaimed. Cer¬ 
tainly this was a singular girl who talked about 
magicians in an everyday tone. 

Rosalind laughed. “ I mean Morgan, who 
does cabinet work. Do you know him ? ” 

“ Everybody in Friendship knows Morgan. 
He is a good fellow, too. Why do you call him 
the magician ? ” 

“ Because that is what father called him when 
he was a little boy. Once when Morgan had 
made an old desk look like new, grandfather said 
he was a magician, and father, who heard him, 
thought he meant it really. Father and Uncle 
Allan used to play in his shop and talk on their 
fingers to him. Can you do that?” 

“Why, yes; I’ll teach you if you like.” 

“ I should like it very much. It is so tire¬ 
some to write things.” 

“ Morgan is very clever, too, about under¬ 
standing. You only begin to spell a word 




MAURICE. 59 

when he guesses what you want to say,” Maurice 
added. 

“I went to his shop the other day with Miss 
Herbert, but she wouldn’t let me stay long. I 
made friends with his funny dog.” 

“ Do you know what we call him ? Curly Q. 
And the cat — did you see him? He is Criss¬ 
cross.” 

“ How funny,” said Rosalind. “ I think they 
are very good names. Crisscross wouldn’t have 
anything to do with me.” 

“ Are you going to live here ? ” Maurice asked. 

“ No; but I shall be here a long time. I think 
Friendship is a nice place, and funny too, because 
it has a bank with a garden around it. At home 
our banks are all on the street and have offices 
over them.” 

“ Yes; Friendship isn’t a city,” Maurice ac¬ 
knowledged apologetically. “ I should like to live 
in a big city.” 

“ I like Friendship. It only seems a little odd, 
you know,” Rosalind hastened to add. “ Do 
they ever let you go into the bank part of your 
house ? ” 

“Why, of course, I can go in whenever I 


6o 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


choose. My father is the cashier, and it is to 
take care of the bank that we live here.” 

The conversation was brought to an end by 
a maid sent to find Rosalind. After she had 
gone Maurice saw a book on the grass where 
she had been lying, and reaching through the 
hedge with his crutch, he drew it toward him. 
When he removed the outside cover, even his 
uncritical eye saw it was a handsome book. 
“Shakespeare’s ‘As You Like It.’ Edited by 
Louis A. Sargent,” he read. “ Why, it is one 
of Shakespeare’s plays,” he said, in surprise. 
So this was the story Rosalind was talking 
about. 

On the fly-leaf was some writing in small clear 
letters. “ For Rosalind, with the wish that she 
may meet the hard things of life as bravely, 
and find as much happiness by the way, as did 
her namesake in the Forest of Arden. From 
her friend, Louis A. Sargent.” 

“Meet the hard things of life as bravely — ” 
Maurice’s face grew hot. “You wouldn’t have 
thought there was any good in that.” The touch 
of scorn in Rosalind’s tone stung as he recalled 
it. He turned the leaves and began to read. 


MAURICE. 


61 


It was a pleasure to look at the large clear type; 
he soon became interested. 

Half an hour later Katherine’s voice broke in 
upon the Forest of Arden. “ Maurice, Maurice, 
what are you doing ? Mother sent me to find 
you.” 

“ I am reading. Don’t bother, please,” was 
the reply, in a tone so far removed from melan¬ 
choly that Katherine, reassured, obediently re¬ 
tired. 



CHAPTER SIXTH. 

PUZZLES. 

“ How weary are my spirits! ” 

U P to this time life had been a simple and 
joyous matter to Rosalind. She had 
known her own small trials and perplexities, but 
her father or Cousin Louis were always at hand 
to smooth out tangles and show her how to be 
merry over difficulties. Now all was different. 
There were puzzles on every side and no one 
to turn to. 

The house behind the griffins was not exactly 
a cheerful place. Rosalind found herself steal¬ 
ing about on tiptoe lest she disturb the silence 
of the spacious rooms. She hardly ventured to 
more than peep into the drawing-room, where 
Miss Herbert’s liking for twilight effects had 
full sway. There was a pier table here, sup¬ 
ported by griffins, the counterpart in feature of 
those on the doorstep, which she longed to ex- 


62 


PUZZLES. 


63 


amine, but the shades were always drawn and 
the handsome draperies of damask and lace hung 
in such perfect folds she dared not disturb 
them. 

Where was the charm of her father’s stories 
of Friendship ? Was it because her grandfather 
was dead that everything had changed ? This 
was why her grandmother wore black dresses 
and added that heavy veil when she went out. 
Rosalind once drew a corner of it over her own 
face and the gloom appalled her. 

She ventured to say one day as they drove 
along a pleasant country road, “ Grandmamma, 
you don’t know how bright the sunshine is,” 
and Mrs. Whittredge replied, “ I do not wish 
to know, Rosalind; nothing can ever again be 
bright to me.” Yet if she would only look, she 
must see that it was bright. This was one 
puzzle. 

Aunt Genevieve’s manner was another. It 
was as if she scorned everything, and sometimes 
it made Rosalind almost angry. 

On the day of her meeting with Maurice, she 
ate her lunch with a glance every few minutes 
at her great-uncle Allan on the opposite wall. 


6 4 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


A very black portrait, it seemed only a mean¬ 
ingless blur till in a certain light the strong face 
and stern eyes shone out of the surrounding 
gloom with startling effect. She sometimes 
wondered rather anxiously if the uncle to whose 
home-coming she looked forward, could by any 
possibility be like the person for whom he was 
named. It was not an agreeable face, yet it 
drew her gaze with an irresistible attraction. 
She was convinced that on occasion the heavy 
brows contracted and the eyes grew even 
sterner. 

In the next panel hung Matilda, his wife, as 
the massive marble in the cemetery said, — a 
youthful person with side curls and a com¬ 
fortable smile. 

Even with its southern windows the dining 
room was sombre in its massive furnishings of 
Flemish oak. Very different from the one at 
home, with its sunshine and flowers, its overflow 
of books from the study, and the odds and ends 
of pottery picked up by father and Cousin Louis 
in their travels. 

Rosalind was thinking that the plain little 
room of the magician was the pleasantest place 


PUZZLES. 


65 


she knew in Friendship, when Martin entered 
with something in his hand, announcing in his 
courtly way, “A book for Miss Rosalind.” It 
seemed to her that Martin, with his grizzled head 
and dusky face, had the most beautiful manners 
ever seen. 

“ For me, Martin ? ” she exclaimed. 

“The young gentleman from next door left 
it,” said Martin. 

“ I did not know you knew any one next 
door, Rosalind,” Mrs. Whittredge remarked ques- 
tioningly. 

“ I am not very well acquainted, grandmamma,” 
Rosalind answered, seeing suddenly in the hand¬ 
some face a likeness to the dark portrait; “ but 
I talked to Maurice through the hedge this morn¬ 
ing. I remember now, I had my book. I must 
have left it on the grass.” 

“ I believe Rosalind seldom loses an oppor¬ 
tunity to speak to people. Miss Herbert says 
she is on quite intimate terms with Morgan,” re¬ 
marked Miss Genevieve. 

“ Father told me about Morgan,” Rosalind 
began apologetically, adding more confidently, 
“ I like to know people.” 


66 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


“ Your father over again,” Mrs. Whittredge 
said, smiling. “What is your book, dear?” 

‘“As You Like It.’ Cousin Louis gave it to 
me.” As she spoke Rosalind caught the glance 
exchanged by her grandmother and aunt. 

“ When I was a little girl Cousin Louis told 
me the story because it is about Rosalind, you 
know, and ever since I have called it my story, 
because I like it best of all.” 

No comment was made on this explanation, 
and it seemed to her the next time she looked 
in his direction, that Uncle Allan frowned. 

When luncheon was over she went out to 
the garden seat under the birch, carrying with 
her an old green speller found in a bookcase 
upstairs. In the back of it she had discovered 
the deaf and dumb alphabet, so now she would 
not have to wait for Maurice to teach her; 
she could learn it by herself. It did not seem 
difficult. With the spelling book propped open 
in one corner of the bench she went carefully 
over it, and then tried to think of words she 
was most likely to want to use in talking with 
Morgan; but this was slower work, and the 
thought that for some unknown reason her grand- 


MUZZLES. 67 

mother was displeased with her kept claiming 
her attention. 

When father was displeased with her — and 
this was not often — he always told her, and they 
talked it over frankly, but grandmamma and 
Aunt Genevieve only looked at each other and 
said nothing. It both puzzled her and hurt her 
dignity to be treated in this way. 

Presently it occurred to her that her grand¬ 
mother might have been vexed at her careless¬ 
ness in leaving her book on the grass. It was 
careless; father would have said so. Well, she 
could let grandmamma know she was sorry, and 
feeling relieved at having found a possible solu¬ 
tion of the problem, she closed the spelling book. 

Mrs. Whittredge looked up in evident surprise 
when Rosalind entered the room and announced, 
“ I am sorry I left my book on the grass, grand¬ 
mamma.” 

“ What do you mean, my dear ? ” she asked. 

“I thought you didn’t like it because I was 
careless.” 

“ I suppose it was careless, my pet, but I had 
not thought of it. But tell me what makes you 
care so much for that book. It seems to me 


68 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


there are many stories that would be more inter¬ 
esting to a little girl.. Suppose you put it away 
and let me find you something else.” 

The color deepened in Rosalind’s face. “ It 
is my own, own book,” she cried, clasping it to 
her heart 

“Very well, you need not be tragic about it,” 
Mrs. Whittredge said coldly, turning to her writ¬ 
ing. 

Again Rosalind knew she had offended, and 
this time her resentment was aroused. “ I don’t 
like to be spoken to in that way,” she told her¬ 
self, as she walked from the room. 

Before she had reached the head of the stairs 
her grandmother’s voice called her back. Re¬ 
luctantly she returned. 

Mrs. Whittredge had risen and now came to 
meet her and put her arm around her, and her 
voice was soft and full of affection as she asked, 
“ Do you want to go to the cemetery with 
me this afternoon, pet ? Aunt Genevieve has 
the carriage, and I think a walk will do me 
good.” 

The walk along the shady street and through 
the grassy lane to the gate at the foot of the 


PUZZLES. 


69 


hill was as pleasant as a walk could be that sum¬ 
mer day. Rosalind kept sedately by her grand¬ 
mother’s side, and the face under the drooping 
hat was grave. Behind them walked Martin 
with some garden tools and a watering-pot. 

The serious eyes brightened, and the lips 
curved into a smile at sight of Maurice and 
Katherine playing dominos under the maple. 
How lovely it must be to have a brother or sister 
to play with and talk to ! 

The cemetery was not new to Rosalind, for 
Mrs. Whittredge on her daily drive usually 
stopped there, and its winding paths and green 
slopes, its drooping willows and graceful oaks, 
and the flowers that bloomed everywhere, around 
the stately shafts of marble and the low head¬ 
stones, seemed to her very pleasant. Here, how¬ 
ever, her grandmother’s sadness took on a deeper 
tinge as she moved among the mounds that lay 
in the shadow of the massive granite monument 
with “ Whittredge ” in letters of bronze at its 
base. 

As Martin went to work trimming the ivy 
under his mistress’s direction, Rosalind wandered 
away by herself across the hill-top, pausing 


70 


\ 

MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 

now and then to read an inscription and do a 
sum in subtraction, on the result of which her 
interest largely depended. “Lily, born 1878, 
died 1888,” stirred her imagination, and she sat 
down to consider it at length. How old would 
Lily be now if she had lived? She tried to 
think how her own name would look on a stone. 
It was still and peaceful on that sunny hillside; 
it reminded her of “ Sharon’s lovely rose.” The 
idea of a grave here was not unattractive. She 
was considering it pensively when her eyes fell 
on a long-stemmed, creamy rose, lying not far 
from her on the ground. With instant pleasure 
in its beauty she took it up and held it against 
her cheek. 

Where had it come from ? Some one must 
have dropped it. She stood up and looked 
around, but there was no one in sight. On the 
other side of a holly bush, however, a number 
of just such roses lay on a grave. Rosalind 
walked over and stooped to read the name on 
the low headstone. “ Robert Ellis Fair,” she 
repeated half aloud as she laid her rose beside 
the others. 

When she lifted her head she met the sur- 


PUZZLES. 


71 


prised gaze of a young lady, who came across 
the grass with a watering-pot in her hand. She 
was decidedly pretty to look at, and she smiled 
pleasantly as she began watering the flowers in 
an iron vase. 

Rosalind felt she must explain, so she said, 
smiling in her turn, “ I found a rose on the grass, 
and I thought it must belong here.” 

“ Thank you. I suppose I dropped it. Won’t 
you tell me who you are ? I am sure you do not 
live in Friendship.” 

“No,- I am visiting my grandmother. I am 
Rosalind Whittredge.” 

A strange expression crossed the face of the 
young lady at this announcement. Could it be 
that something displeased her ? After a moment 
she spoke gravely, “ I think some one is looking 
for you,” she said. 

Turning, Rosalind saw Martin in the distance, 
and as there seemed nothing else to do or say, 
she walked away. After she had gone some 
little distance she could not resist looking back, 
and just as she did so she saw the young lady 
fling something from her across the grass, and — 
it looked like a rose! Could it be her rose? 


72 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


Rosalind felt her cheeks growing hot. How 
very strange! Here was a puzzle, indeed. 

Aunt Genevieve had come for them in the 
carriage, and as they drove home Rosalind tried 
to describe the young lady she had seen, saying 
nothing about the rose, however. 

“ It must have been Celia Fair, mamma, don’t 
you think so ? ” asked Genevieve. 

“Fair was the name on the stone,” said Rosa¬ 
lind, adding, “ She was pretty.” 

Miss Whittredge looked at her mother, then as 
that lady was silent, she remarked, in her usual lan¬ 
guid tone, “ I think you may as well know, Rosa¬ 
lind, that we have nothing to do with the Fairs.” 

Why did it make any difference to Rosalind ? 
Why did everything seem wrong ? Why did she 
feel so unhappy in spite of the blue sky and the 
sweet summer air? 

When they reached home she sat on the garden 
bench and looked up at the griffins, and the fancy 
floated through her mind that it might be com¬ 
fortable to be as unfeeling as they. 

“O, dear! I am afraid I am getting out of 
the Forest. What shall I do? Perhaps the 
magician could help me; ” she clasped her hands 


PUZZLES. 


73 


at the thought. Why not go to see him ? She 
knew the way. 

“I will take my book to show him,” she said; 
and running to the house for it, forgetful of 
everything but her longing for sympathy, a few 
minutes later she flitted down the driveway and 
out of the gate. 


CHAPTER SEVENTH. 


THE MAGICIAN MAKES TEA. 

“ — If that love or gold 
Can in this place buy entertainment, 

Bring us where we may rest ourselves and feed ; 
Here’s a young maid with travel much oppress’d 
And faints for succour.” 


HE magician was at work in his small gar- 



JL den adjusting some wire netting for the 
sweet peas, while Curly Q. looked on with in¬ 
terest, and Crisscross finished his saucer of 


milk. 


Rosalind came through the shop so softly that 
only the cat was aware of it. He gazed at her 
in evident doubt whether to continue work on 
the rim of his saucer or take refuge on the 
fence. 

“ I should like to have a little house, and a 
dog and cat to live with me,” she thought, sit¬ 
ting down on the step to wait till she should 


74 


THE MAGICIAN MAKES TEA. 75 

be observed. Yes, this was more like the Forest 
of Arden than any place she knew; her unhap¬ 
piness seemed melting away in the peaceful 
atmosphere. 

Crisscross decided she was not dangerous,-and 
keeping an eye on her by way of precaution 
went on with his supper. It was not long, 
however, before Curly Q. discovered her pres¬ 
ence and came bounding to her side, with a 
sharp bark of welcome, then back to call his 
master’s attention. 

“Why! W T hy!” exclaimed the magician, hold¬ 
ing up a pair of rather grimy hands. 

There could be no doubt about his being glad 
to see Rosalind. He asked how she was, over 
and over, and apologized for his hands, and 
smiled and nodded and indulged in all sorts of 
absurd gestures, which made her laugh so she 
couldn’t try her new accomplishment of talking 
on her fingers. Directly he hurried into the 
house, where she could hear him washing his 
hands, and then he came out again with a tea¬ 
kettle, which he filled at the cistern, and carry¬ 
ing it back set it on a small oil stove, which he 
lighted. 


;6 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


“We’ll have some tea,” he said, sitting down 
beside her and asking again how she was. 

Rosalind summoned all her learning and spelled 
out carefully, with the aid of some very dainty 
fingers, “I-am-lon — ” 

“ Lonesome ? ” repeated the magician. “ That 
is too bad. Mr. Pat wouldn’t like that.” 

Rosalind shook her head. The tears were near 
the surface, but she kept them back, and remem¬ 
bering her book she laid it on the magician’s 
knee, open at the words Cousin Louis had writ¬ 
ten : “If we choose we may travel always in 
the Forest where the birds sing and the sunlight 
sifts through the trees ; where although we some¬ 
times grow footsore and hungry we know that 
the goal is sure. Just outside is the dreary 
desert in which, alas! many choose to walk, 
shutting their eyes to the beauty and peace of 
the Forest, and losing by the way the sacred 
gift of happiness.” 

The magician read it slowly through, then he 
smiled at Rosalind over his glasses. “ That’s so,” 
he said. “ It is hard to keep out of the desert 
sometimes, but it all comes right in the end. 
Why, the other day I was — ” here he shook 


THE MAGICIAN MAKES TEA. 


77 


his head and put on a woe-begone expression of 
countenance that made his meaning plain, and 
caused Rosalind to laugh — “ and I looked up 
and there you stood in the door and pointed to 
the motto, ‘ Good in everything,’ and I felt 
better.” 

“ Did I really cheer you up ? ” cried Rosalind, 
delighted; and nodding quite as if he heard, the 
magician answered, “Now I’ll cheer you up.” 
Rising, he beckoned her to follow him inside, and 
she obeyed, feeling as if she were somebody in 
a story. 

The kettle was already singing merrily, and 
from a shelf the magician took down a fat little 
teapot and, rinsing it with boiling water, pro¬ 
ceeded to make tea. N'ext he spread a white 
cloth on a small table, and from the cupboard 
took out some blue and white cups and plates. 

“ Let me set it,” begged Rosalind, in panto¬ 
mime, entering gayly into the spirit of the thing. 

Laughing, the magician left it to her and went 
off to his store-room, from which he emerged with 
a pitcher of milk and a loaf of brown bread. 

There was nothing in the appointments of this 
simple meal to offend the most fastidious taste, 


78 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


and it was a sight to bring a smile to the dole- 
fulest countenance, to see Rosalind and the magi¬ 
cian sitting opposite to each other drinking tea. 
In the midst of it Morgan jumped up and went 
to the store-room, returning with a tumbler of 
jelly. “ Miss Betty Bishop’s jelly,” he said. 
“Do you know Miss Betty ? ” 

Rosalind shook her head. 

“ She makes good things,” he added, as he 
unscrewed the top. 

Rosalind’s afternoon in the open air had 
given her an appetite, and she did full justice 
to the brown bread and jelly, the novelty of the 
occasion adding a flavor. Through the open 
door and window came the glow of the sunset, 
and the air was sweet with some far-off fragrance. 
All trouble had faded from her face; it was as 
if in the heart of the Forest she had come upon 
some friendly inn. Such a small matter as 
dinner in the house behind the griffins quite 
escaped her memory. 

“ Well, upon my word ! ” 

Startled in the act of feeding Curly Q., Rosa¬ 
lind looked toward the door, and saw there a 
lady in a crisp, light muslin. More than this 


* 



u 


DO YOU KNOW MISS BETTY?” 

















r~ 


























• ' • m 
































































































■ 

- 















* 


















































































THE MAGICIAN MAKES TEA. 


79 


she did not at once take in,'for behind her in 
the semi-darkness of the shop was Martin’s 
face. The conviction that he was looking for 
her, and that grandmamma would be vexed, 
overshadowed everything else. She rose, while 
the magician greeted the lady as Miss Betty, and 
offered her a cup of tea. 

“I’se been searchin’ high and low for you, 
Miss Rosalind,” Martin exclaimed, coming for¬ 
ward. 

“Tm dreadfully sorry, Martin; I forgot,” said 
Rosalind. 

Miss Betty, who had declined the tea, now held 
out her hand. “ This is Rosalind Whittredge, of 
course; I am your Cousin Betty.” 

“ I didn’t know I had any cousins,” said 
Rosalind. 

‘‘You will find a few if you stay long enough,” 
replied Miss Betty. “ How do you come to be 
eating supper with Morgan, I’d like to know? 
I was sitting on my porch when you went in, so 
when Martin came along I was able to help him.” 

“I like Morgan. I wanted to see him. Father 
told me about him.” Rosalind felt she couldn’t 
explain exactly. 


80 MR. PAT’S lWtLE GIRL. 

“ I used to know your father very well indeed,” 
said Miss Betty, as they walked together to the 
street, after Rosalind had told the magician 
good-by. “As you seem to like going out to 
tea, I hope you will come and take supper with 
me sometime,” she added, with a twinkle in her 
eye. 

When she reached home Miss Herbert stood 
at the gate, and in the door was Mrs. Whittredge. 
Rosalind’s face was full of brightness as she ran 
up the path. 

“ Grandmamma, I meant only to stay a minute, 
and then I forgot.” 

“ I have been worried about you, Rosalind,” 
Mrs. Whittredge said gravely. “Why did you 
not come to me and tell me where you wished 
to go ? Where have you been ? ” 

“To see the magician — Morgan, I mean. I 
wanted so much to see him I did not think of 
anything else.” 

“ Why did you wish to see him ? ” continued 
her grandmother. 

The glow was fading from Rosalind’s face. 
“ Because — ” she hesitated, “ because — ” 


“ Well? 


Me magician makes TEa. 8i 

“ Because I was lonely, grandmamma, and I 
was afraid I was going to cry. I promised 
father I would be brave, and — well—Morgan 
knows about the Forest, and is very good to 
cheer you up. He made tea in the dearest little 
teapot, and it was so amusing, I forgot. I am 
sorry.” 

“ Do you mean you took supper with Mor¬ 
gan ? Well, Rosalind, you are amazing ! ” Aunt 
Genevieve spoke from the hall. 

“ Never mind, Genevieve,” said her mother. 
“ I am sorry you were lonely, Rosalind, but I 
do not understand why you should go to Mor¬ 
gan. And what do you mean by the * forest ’ ? ” 

Rosalind’s face was grave again. “ I don’t 
know, grandmamma,” she faltered, and indeed 
she could not have told if her life had depended 
on it. 

“ I think you were very easy on her, mamma. 
It was certainly naughty of her to run away,” 
Genevieve remarked, after Rosalind, worn out 
by the conflicting experiences of the day, had 
gone to bed. 

Mrs. Whittredge did not reply at once. On 
her lap lay her granddaughter’s little volume of 


82 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


“As You Like It,” and she had been reading 
the words about the Forest. It had a way of 
opening to that page. 

“ She is a peculiar, fanciful child, and quite 
old enough to know better. Professor Sargent 
may be a brilliant man, but it seems to me he 
has filled the child’s head full of nonsense. I 
can’t see what Patterson has been thinking of,” 
Genevieve continued. 

“ I am not inclined to find much fault with 
her. I did not expect her to be perfect She 
seems naturally sweet and happy,” her mother 
replied. 

“ Losing by the way the sacred gift of happi¬ 
ness,” Mrs. Whittredge’s eyes went back to the 
book. Surely happiness had slipped from her 
grasp, leaving nothing but regret. It was sad 
to realize that her children found all their pleas¬ 
ure apart from her. Somewhere she had failed, 
but pride told her it was fate ; that sorrow and 
disappointment were the common lot, that grati¬ 
tude was not to be looked for. 

After her bitter disappointment in her oldest 
son she had been the more determined to have 
her way with Allan. With what result ? The 


THE MAGICIAN MAKES TEA. 83 

extended tour abroad, planned with a purpose 
just as his college course was ended, had 
weaned him completely from his home. His 
interests were elsewhere, and although as joint 
executor with her of his father’s estate he 
was often in Friendship, his visits were usu¬ 
ally brief. Between herself and her daughter 
there was little sympathy. Genevieve, calm and 
inflexible, had early declared her independence. 
But more than all else put together was her 
haunting sorrow for her husband. Words of 
Dr. Fair, spoken long ago in cruel bluntness, 
still rang in her ears: “ Madam, you are kill¬ 
ing your husband by your obstinacy.” Her 
mind dwelt with morbid persistency upon them. 
Had the reconciliation with her son come too 
late ? 

At a time of utter weariness with herself she 
acceded to Patterson’s proposal to send his 
daughter to her. Genevieve had expostulated, 
insisting she would be impossible, a child with 
no bringing up. Rosalind had come, and even 
Genevieve had to admit, so far as manners and 
appearance were concerned, she was not im¬ 
possible. 


*4 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


In the fair young face, with its serious eyes, 
in whose glance there was often a singular 
radiance, Mrs. Whittredge found something that 
touched her heart. Her granddaughter had not 
the Whittredge beauty, she was nothing of a 
Whittredge, and yet— One day she had taken 
up the miniature on Rosalind’s table, with a 
glance over her shoulder; and when she put it 
down and turned away, it was with the reluctant 
feeling that perhaps there had been some excuse 
for her son when he left father and mother and 
kindred and home for this young girl. 



CHAPTER EIGHTH. 


TO MEET ROSALIND. 

“ Put you in your best array.” 

M ISS Betty Bishop lived in a small white 
house with brown trimmings, which she 
herself likened to a white cake with chocolate 
filling. Everything about it was snug and neat 

r 

and seemed to the observer a pleasant expres¬ 
sion of that kindly, busy, cheery lady; but Miss 
Betty was in the habit of declaring it had taken 
her twenty years to get settled in those small, 
low-ceiled rooms, and that she didn’t feel quite 
in yet. 

There had been a great sacrifice of fine old 
furniture when the big house on Main Street 
had to be exchanged for the little one in 
Church Lane, and it was no wonder Miss Betty 
sighed at the thought. None the less she had 
accepted courageously the reverses which at 
twenty brought her gay girlhood to an end, and 
85 


86 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


for fifteen years was a cheerful, devoted nurse 
to her invalid father. Since his death she 
lived alone with only Sophy, her old mammy, to 
cook and care for her. 

When it became known that Miss Betty had 
invited certain of her young friends to tea to 
meet Rosalind Whittredge, a wave of excitement 
swept over Friendship. 

All the children of the town had heard stories 
of Miss Betty’s beauty and belleship, but those 
Washington winters belonged to twenty years 
ago and had no connection with her present 
popularity. Sophy’s skill as a cook no doubt 
had something to do with the fame of her mis¬ 
tress’s tea parties, but besides this Miss Betty 
knew how to make her guests, whether young or 
old, have a good time. 

When asked if she was fond of children, she 
was sure to reply, “ Some children. I don’t like 
disagreeable children any better than I do dis¬ 
agreeable grown persons.” And for this reason, 
perhaps, it had come to be esteemed something 
of an honor to be asked to her house. 

Miss Betty had at first felt a prejudice against 
Patterson Whittredge’s daughter, deciding in her 


TO MEET ROSALIND. 


87 


own mind that she was probably a spoiled little 
thing; but the sight of Rosalind taking tea with 
Morgan, and more than this, the frank gaze of 
those disarming gray eyes, had touched her kindly 
heart. She knew as well as anybody that it 
must be lonely in the Whittredge house; and so 
she had thought of the tea party. 

The interest felt in Patterson Whittredge’s 
daughter was very general. Patterson belonged 
to those old times when peace had reigned in 
Friendship. He had been a favorite in the village, 
and to many it seemed only the other day that 
he had gone away. It was incredible that this 
tall girl seen walking by Mrs. Whittredge’s side 
could be his daughter. There were those like 
Mrs. Graham’s pupils, who were inclined to invest 
her with a halo of romance; others criticised her 
as not at all the Whittredge style, not what one 
had a right to expect in Mrs. Whittredge’s grand¬ 
daughter. Some pitied Mrs. Whittredge for the 
responsibility thrust upon her, others pitied Rosa¬ 
lind, and still more, envied her. 

In view of all the discussion, it was not pos¬ 
sible to regard an invitation to meet her as quite 
an everyday matter. 


88 MR. PAT’S/^JTTLE GIRL. 

“ I do wish you had not soiled your embroid¬ 
ered muslin, Belle. You will have to wear your 
summer silk,” said Mrs. Parton, addressing her 
daughter, who sat on the dining-room floor enter¬ 
taining a Maltese kitten with a string and spool. 

“ I forgot to tell you, mother, Jack dropped 
some wax candle on it last Sunday night, when 
we were looking for a penny in the grass,” Belle 
replied, lifting her merry black eyes for a moment. 
“Anyway, it isn’t a dress-up party — only to 
supper.” 

“ Bring that dress to me at once. I am aston¬ 
ished at you. The only decent thing you have! ” 
Mrs. Parton sat down and clasped her hands in 
an attitude of desperation. 

Followed by the kitten, Belle departed, return¬ 
ing directly with the blue and white checked silk 
over her arm. 

“Whatever it is,” her mother continued, I want 
you to look nice; Betty says Rosalind Whittredge 
has beautiful clothes.” 

“ I just know she is a prig,” remarked Belle, 
caressing the kitten. 

“ No, she isn’t! ” A tumbled head and a pair 
of eyes very like Belle’s own peered out suddenly 



TO MEET ROSALIND. 


89 


from beneath the table cover. “ If she was, she 
wouldn’t have run away to take supper with 
Morgan.” 

“Mercy upon us, Jack! you are enough to 
startle the sphinx. Come out from under that 
table at once,” commanded his mother. 

“ Did she do that ? ” asked Belle, with some 
interest, adding, “Is it very bad, mother ? Can 
you clean it ? How do you know she did, Jack ? ” 

Mrs. Parton shook her head ; “ I’ll try French 
chalk,” she said. 

“ Miss Betty said so. She saw her,” put in 
Jack. 

Mrs. Parton rose. “Another time when you 
lose a penny, I will make it good rather than 
have your best dress spoiled,” she remarked. 

“ But you see, mother, it was a church penny,” 
Belle explained, as if she were mentioning some 
rare and peculiar coin. “ Arthur brought the 
collection home because Uncle Ranney wasn’t 
there, and when he untied his handkerchief on 
the porch a penny dropped out and rolled into 
the grass.” 

“Who is going to Miss Betty’s?” Jack asked, 
as his mother left the room. 


90 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


“ Maurice and Katherine and you and me, 
and the Ellises, and ^- I don’t know who.” 

“I know it will be stupid; I don’t think I’ll 
go.” 

“ If it is stupid, you will make it so,” retorted 
his sister, adding, “and you will go, too, for 
mother will make you; besides, you know you 
wouldn’t miss Sophy’s waffles.” Belle departed 
with the kitten, leaving Jack to return to the 
latest Henty book and his retreat under the 
table. 

The Partons’ was a square house, with a wide 
hall dividing it through the middle and opening 
on a porch at either end. When the weather 
at all permitted, these doors stood wide open, 
and dogs and cats and children ran in and out 
as they pleased. In the afternoons Colonel 
Parton sat on the front porch smoking and 
reading, threatening the dogs and the children 
indiscriminately, receiving not the slightest atten¬ 
tion from either. 

As she passed him now, Belle mischievously 
deposited the kitten on his shoulder. 

“You baggage, you! Take this thing off 
me,” thundered the colonel, as the kitten made 


TO MEET ROSALIND. 


91 

its claws felt in a frantic endeavor to hold on 
in its perilous position. 

“O father! don’t hurt her,” Belle cried, run¬ 
ning to the rescue, and in the scuffle that fol¬ 
lowed, the unfortunate kitten escaped. 

“ Don’t you let me catch you doing a thing 
like that again,” scolded the colonel, as he 
picked up his paper and settled himself in his 
chair again. 

Belle laughed, and held up her face for a 
kiss, which her father gave with a hearty good 
will. 

Mrs. Parton was not the only one who felt 
dress to be a matter of importance on this 
occasion. Charlotte Ellis stopped at the bank 
gate to ask Katherine what she was going to 
wear. 

“My blue lawn, I think,” Katherine answered. 
“ Mother says it is nice enough, and that I 
must keep my new white dress for Commence¬ 
ment.” 

“Your blue dress is very pretty, I am sure,” 
Charlotte said. She was two years older than 
Katherine, and her manner was mildly patroniz¬ 
ing. “ I think I shall wear white. Of course 


92 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


it is not a party, but we want to make a good 
impression on a stranger.” 

Katherine felt the force of this, but Maurice, 
who overheard Charlotte, was inclined to jeer. 
“ Much difference it will make to her what you 
have on,” he said, as Charlotte left them. 
“ Her,” meant Rosalind. 

“ How do you know it won’t make any differ¬ 
ence?” asked Katherine. 

“Because she is not that kind.” 

“ What kind ? How do you know ? ” 

Now Maurice had kept his interview with 
Rosalind to himself, saying nothing to any one 
when he returned her book. His sudden inter¬ 
est in Shakespeare had not passed unnoticed; 
but as this or something else had caused longer 
intervals of cheerfulness, the family had not 
ventured to disturb the agreeable change by 
asking questions. 

“ I know, because I talked to her the other 
day,” he replied. 

“ Maurice, really ? ” cried Katherine. “ I don’t 
believe it.” 

“You needn’t if you don’t want to,” was her 
brother’s lofty answer. 


TO MEET ROSALIND. 


93 


On the appointed evening the guest of honor 
was the last to arrive, and the others were in 
such a state of expectancy they could not set¬ 
tle down to an examination of Miss Betty’s 
puzzle drawer with which she usually enter¬ 
tained her young guests until supper was an¬ 
nounced. Miss Betty, who adored puzzles and 
problems of all kinds, was continually adding to 
her collection, and this evening there was a 
brand new one, brought from the city only the 
day before; but even Belle, who was especially 
good at puzzles, and besides affected not to care 
about Rosalind Whittredge, could not keep her 
eyes from the window. 

The application of French chalk had been 
successful, and she wore her blue and white 
silk; Katherine, in her blue muslin, with rib¬ 
bons to match on her smooth braids, wished her 
mother had been more impressed with the im¬ 
portance of the occasion. Charlotte was com¬ 
placent in her white dress with a large ribbon 
bow on top of her head, in a new fashion just 
received from her cousin in Baltimore. 

“That’s the way Rosalind wears hers,” whis¬ 
pered Katherine. 


94 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


The boys fingered the puzzles and talked about 
the ball game to be played to-morrow, but they 
shared the feeling of anticipation. Their hostess 
bustled back and forth. 

“ Children,” she said, pausing in the door, “ I 
want you to be as nice as possible to Rosalind. 
Remember she is a stranger, and we wish her 
to have a pleasant impression of Friendship.” 

“ Here she is! ” announced Belle, and the rest 
crowded around the window. 

“ There’s Miss Genevieve,” whispered Charlotte; 
“ girls, she is coming in ! ” 

The Whittredge carriage had stopped before 
the gate and Miss Genevieve, a marvel of grace in 
soft chiffons that rippled and curled about her 
slender height and emphasized the fairness of 
her skin, was actually escorting her niece to the 
door. 

“Isn’t she lovely?” sighed Charlotte, in an 
ecstasy. 

“Not so sweet as Miss Celia,” said loyal 
Belle. 

Miss Betty met them on the porch, while her 
guests in the parlor craned their necks to catch a 
glimpse, through the open door, of the new 


TO MEET ROSALIND. 


95 


arrivals. The languid sweetness of Miss Gene¬ 
vieve’s tone floated in above Miss Betty’s crisper 
utterance. 

“Mamma is just as usual, thank you. Yes, it 
was very kind of you to ask her; I have no doubt 
she finds it dull. Yes, we expect Allan in a week 
or two, but there is no counting on him.” 

So absorbed were the listeners, they did not 
begin their retreat soon enough, and their hostess, 
ushering Rosalind in, encountered a scene of 
confusion. Katherine in the excitement fell back¬ 
ward over a footstool and was rescued, flushed 
and shamefaced, by Jack Parton. Charlotte 
smoothed her dress and tried to look dignified. 
Belle and Maurice were in fits of laughter. 

Miss Betty surveyed them in surprise. Rosa¬ 
lind stood beside her, and the girls at once noted 
that she wore pink. 

“ Is anything the matter ? ” asked Miss Betty, 
observing Katherine’s flushed face. “ I want to 
introduce Rosalind Whittredge to you. Rosalind, 
this is Charlotte Ellis, and Katherine Roberts, and 
Belle Parton — ” 

Still laughing, Belle held out her hand. “ We 
were peeping at you,” she said. 


96 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


“ Didn’t you know I was coming in ? ” Rosalind 
asked, a gleam of fun in her own eyes. 

“We wanted to see Miss Genevieve,” added Belle. 

As Miss Betty proceeded to name the boys, Rosa¬ 
lind said, “ Oh, I know Maurice,” quite as if he 
were an old friend ; and she added, standing beside 
him, “ I am so much obliged to you for bringing 
my book home.” 

“ Does Maurice know her ? ” whispered Belle. 

Katherine nodded, although she had had her 
doubts until this minute. 

Maurice was agreeably conscious of Belle’s eyes 
as he talked to Rosalind. He was not at all un¬ 
willing to have the distinction of being the only 
one to know the new-comer. 

“ I read the story,” he said. “ I did not know 
till after you had gone that it was one of Shake¬ 
speare’s plays. We read Julius Caesar at school 
last winter.” 

“ I know that too,” Rosalind answered. I have 
Lamb’s stories. Cousin Louis used to read them 
to me, and then from the real plays, but I like the 
story of the Forest best.” 

“ Dear me! they are talking about Shake¬ 
speare,” Belle exclaimed. 


TO MEET ROSALIND. 9; 

Rosalind looked across the room at her, and 
smiled in a way that seemed an invitation. 

“ It is a little funny for her to sit down beside a 
boy the first thing, don’t you think ? ” Charlotte 
said in a low tone to Katherine, who assented 
because she was in the habit of agreeing with 
Charlotte. 

Belle overheard. “ Silly! ” she said, and to 
show her scorn she went over and sat on an arm 
of the sofa beside Rosalind. 

“Do you like to read?” she asked. 

Rosalind opened her eyes. “ Of course I do, 
don’t you ? ” 

Belle, who had browsed in her father’s library 
since she had learned her letters, was known as a 
great reader, and felt rather proud of her repu¬ 
tation ; but she found the stranger had read as 
much as she, and seemed to think nothing 
of it. 

In the warmth of a discussion of favorite 
stories any stiffness is sure to melt rapidly away. 
Jack, hearing mention of “The Talisman,” joined 
in and the others drew up their chairs, so that 
when Miss Betty rustled back from an excursion 
to the dining room she found the ice broken and 


H 


98 MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 

sociability prevailing. But she startled them all 
by an exclamation. 

“Jack Parton, for pity’s sake, sit up! and you 
too, Katherine ; I cannot allow my guests to sit 
on their spines.” 

“ But it is so much more comfortable,” pro¬ 
tested lazy Jack, slowly screwing himself into 
a more erect position, while Katherine straight¬ 
ened up with a blush. 

“ There seems to be something wrong with 
the spines of this generation, and the first thing 
you know it will react on their mental and moral 
natures. People without backbone are odious,” 
Miss Betty continued. 

“ I wish you children could have seen Miss 
Patricia Gilpin as I saw her once when I was a 
little child, more than thirty years ago. She 
was straight as an arrow and pretty as a picture. 
Such old ladies have gone out of fashion. I 
remember hearing her describe the backboard 
and spiked collar she wore for several hours 
each day when she was a child.” 

“ What was the spiked collar for ? ” Rosalind 
asked. 

“To keep her head in the correct position.” 


TO MEET ROSALIND. 


99 


“ I am glad I didn’t live then,” said Belle. 

At this point Miss Betty’s sermon was 
interrupted by the appearance of a small, 
brown boy in a white apron, who announced 
supper. 


L.ofC. 


CHAPTER NINTH. 


THE LOST RING. 

“ Wear this for me.” 

T HE old mahogany table had never reflected 
a circle of brighter faces than gathered 
about it that evening to do justice to Sophy’s 
good things served on Miss Betty’s pretty china. 

Rosalind at the left hand of her hostess looked 
around the company with frank enjoyment of 
the novelty of the occasion. These young people 
were very entertaining, particularly Belle; and 
more amusing than anything was the small 
waiter, at whom Miss Betty glanced so sternly 
when he showed a disposition to laugh at the 
jokes. 

It was when Miss Betty began to serve the 
strawberries that some one remarked on the 
old cream-pitcher of colonial glass, and thus 
started her on her favorite topic of the cream- 


THE LOST RING. 


IOI 


jug and sugar-dish that exactly matched her 
teapot and should have been hers. 

This was the first time Rosalind had heard 
mention of old Mr. Gilpin and the will. 

“ My grandmother and Cousin Thomas’s 
mother were sisters,” Miss Betty explained, “ and 
when their father and mother died the family 
silver was divided between them. In this way 
the teapot came down to me, and some of the 
other pieces to Cousin Anne, who was, you 
know, Cousin Thomas’s sister.” 

“ Was old Mr. Gilpin related to me, Cousin 
Betty ? ” asked Rosalind. 

“ Why, certainly, my dear; it is time you were 
learning about your relations. He was your 
grandfather’s own cousin. Your great-grand¬ 
mother was Mary Gilpin before she married Mr. 
Whittredge.” 

“ Rosalind looks puzzled,” said Belle, laughing. 

Rosalind laughed too. “ I never knew about 
relations before. Does father know all this?” 

“ I should hope so; this is not much to 
know.” 

“ Miss Betty, you promised to tell us about 
the ring, sometime; Rosalind would like to hear 


102 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


it, I am sure. Wouldn’t you, Rosalind ? ” asked 
Belle. 

Rosalind wished very much to hear it, and 
Miss Betty, with a glance around the table, re¬ 
marked, “ I shall be glad to tell what I know if 
you care to have me, and Jack will sit up.” 

“ Send for a pillow, Miss Betty; that is what 
mother does,” Belle suggested, to the delight of 
the small waiter, who was compelled to retire 
suddenly to the hall, where he was heard gig¬ 
gling. 

“As some of you know,” Miss Betty began, 
“the ring belonged to Miss Patricia Gilpin, who 
was an aunt of Cousin Thomas’s, and your great- 
great-aunt, Rosalind. If it is still in existence, 
it is not far from eighty years old. You might 
suppose from the way in which they are spoken 
of now, that in the early part of the century all 
young women were beauties and belles; but if 
there is any truth in her miniature, Patricia Gil¬ 
pin was a really beautiful woman.” 

“ Wasn’t she married ? I thought it was an 
engagement ring,” said Charlotte. 

“ It was, but she never married. The young 
naval officer to whom she was engaged was 


THE LOST RING. 


103 


killed in the War of 1812. They had known 
each other only a short time; it was love at first 
sight, I suppose. He had the ring made for 
her, and I always heard that she received it 
and the news of his death at nearly the same 
time. The last message she had from him was, 
‘Wear this for me,’ which he had written on a 
card and enclosed with the ring; and she always 
wore it. She was a girl of eighteen at the 
time, and greatly admired; but she never forgot 
her lover.” 

“Did she live in Friendship ? ” Rosalind asked. 

“ During her father’s lifetime this was her 
home. She was born in the old Gilpin house, 
which was new then; and perhaps you know 
that the rustic summer-house at the top of the 
hill on the left is called Patricia’s arbor. For 
some years after her lover’s death she lived in 
seclusion, seeing no one; and always when the 
weather permitted she would sit in the arbor, 
looking out upon the river. 

“ It was said that this was the scene of their 
courtship, but it may be only a story. 

“After her father’s death she lived in Wash¬ 
ington, but she often visited Cousin Anne in the 


104 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


old place. As I have said, I remember seeing 
her and hearing her talk, when I was a child 
of six or seven. She was a stately and beauti¬ 
ful old lady, and as I recall it now, her face 
showed she had borne her share of trouble and 
disappointment bravely; and you can’t say more 
than that for anybody.” 

“That is what Cousin Louis says,” remarked 
Rosalind, smiling at Maurice. 

“ But you haven’t told us what the ring was 
like,” put in Charlotte. 

“ I never could tell a straight story,” replied 
Miss Betty, laughing. “Well, it was a broad 
band of open lace-work of a most delicate and 
beautiful pattern, and made of pure gold. The 
stone was an oval sapphire of great depth and 
purity of color, in a setting of tiny stars, made 
of little points of gold. When Miss Patricia 
died she left the ring to Cousin Anne, her 
niece, along with many other valuable things. 
Cousin Anne never wore it, but she used to 
show it to me sometimes as a great treat, and I 
have tried it on more than once. Cousin Anne 
ought to have made a will; but at best she was 
an undecided person, and she had a long illness. 


THE LOST RING. 


IO i 

It was generally supposed she would leave it to 
your aunt Genevieve, Rosalind, or else to Patricia 
Marshall. Indeed, there were half a dozen of 
them who would have given their heads for it. 
Cousin Anne knew it, and she hated to dis¬ 
appoint anybody, so she ended by disappointing 
everybody/' 

“ Why didn’t she leave it to you, Miss Betty ? ” 
asked Jack. 

“ Miss Patricia was not related to me. She was 
aunt to Cousin Thomas and Cousin Anne on their 
father's side, and I am connected through the 
Barnwells, his mother’s family, just as Rosa¬ 
lind’s grandmother is,” she explained; adding, 
“As Cousin Anne left no will, everything she 
owned went to her brother; and you have all 
heard about his will. Most of his money was to 
go to the endowment of a hospital, all the other 
property to be sold and the proceeds divided 
among his first cousins or their children, except 
the ring and an old spinet that came to him 
through his wife. The first he left to Allan 
Whittredge, the other to Celia Fair.” 

“To Uncle Allan ?” asked Rosalind, greatly 
interested. 


106 MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 

“ Yes, and everybody wonders why. However, 
when they came to take an inventory, the ring 
was not to be found.” 

“And they haven’t the least idea what be¬ 
came of it,” remarked Maurice. 

“ I think it was stolen,” said Miss Betty, 
“although I acknowledge there is something 
mysterious about it. Cousin Thomas was sub¬ 
ject to attacks of heart failure, and was found 
one evening unconscious in his arm-chair before 
the open door of the safe, where he kept his 
valuables. Morgan had left him an hour before, 
apparently as well as usual. He was discovered 
in this condition by old Milly, who is honest as 
the day, and she sent at once for Dr. Fair, next 
door, but it was some time before he could be 
found, and in the excitement it seems quite pos¬ 
sible the ring might have been stolen. After 
Dr. Fair had partially revived the old man, he 
noticed the open safe and closed it. Cousin 
Thomas never regained consciousness entirely, 
and died the next day. It must have been a 
week before the ring was missed. The strange 
thing is that there were jewels of greater value 
in the safe, which were not disturbed.” 


THE LOST RING. 


107 


“ Don’t you wish your uncle would give it to 
you if it is found ? ” Charlotte asked Rosa¬ 
lind. 

“In his will Mr. Gilpin said he left the ring 
to Allan, who was aware of his wishes in regard 
to it. I have no idea what those wishes were, 
but I hardly think he had Rosalind in mind,” 
Miss Betty said, smiling. 

“Uncle Allan must know what he meant. How 
strange! ” 

“ Like a story, isn’t it ? ” said Belle. 

“ Have they looked everywhere for it ? ” con¬ 
tinued Rosalind. 

“Yes; the most thorough search has been made, 
to no effect.” 

The rest of the evening was spent in games, 
and from the laughing that went on, Miss Betty’s 
guests must have enjoyed themselves. When 
Martin came for her and Rosalind said good 
night to her new friends, she did not feel like 
the same girl who had had to go to the magi¬ 
cian to be cheered a few days ago. The face 
she lifted to the stars as she walked home was 
very bright indeed. 

Grandmamma and Aunt Genevieve sat in the hall. 


io8 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


“ Have you had a pleasant time?” Mrs. Whit- 
tredge asked. 

“ A beautiful time, grandmamma. I do like to 
know people. And Miss Betty—I mean Cousin 
Betty — told us about the lost ring and — was 
she my aunt ? — Patricia ? Did you ever see her, 
grandmamma ? ” 

“Yes, a number of times. She visited at our 
house when I was a child. She died a few 
years after my marriage. Your Aunt Genevieve 
is thought to resemble the miniature done of her 
in her girlhood.” 

Rosalind looked in the direction of the arm¬ 
chair where her aunt half reclined, her eyes on 
a book, her clear profile in relief against the 
dark leather, the mellow lamp-light bringing out 
the copper tints in her hair. “ Then I know 
she must have been lovely,” she said. 

Mrs. Whittredge laughed, and Genevieve lifted 
her eyes to ask, “ What is that ? ” 

“ Rosalind is sure Patricia Gilpin must have been 
handsome if you resemble her,” her mother replied. 

Genevieve shrugged her shoulders, and her lips 
curled a little, although she smiled; “ Thank you, 
Rosalind,” she said. 


THE LOST RING. 


109 


“ I don’t believe,” thought Rosalind, as she 
slowly prepared for bed, “ that Miss Patricia — 
Aunt Patricia — looked as if she didn’t care about 
anything. She bore hard things bravely, Miss 
Betty said, and I believe people who do that have 
a kind look.” Here her glance fell upon the 
miniature on her dressing-table. The sweet eyes 
smiled on her. Taking it up she pressed it to 
her lips; “ Like you, my dear beautiful,” she 
whispered. 


CHAPTER TENTH. 



CELIA. 


“One out of suits with fortune.” 


CELIA! ” called Miss Betty Bishop, from 



V^/ her front door, “come in a minute. I 
had a tea party last night, and I want to send 
your mother some of Sophy’s marshmallow cake. 
I am so glad you happened by,” she added, as 
Celia came up the walk, “ I was wondering how 
I should get it to her.” 

“ It is very kind of you, Miss Betty,” said 
Celia, following her into the dining room. 

“There is no kindness about it,” asserted 
Miss Betty, opening the cake box. “I am just 
proud of Sophy’s good things and like to make 
other people envy me.” 

“That is not hard,” Celia answered, thinking 
that life seemed easy and pleasant in this snug 
little house. Miss Betty had had her hard 
times, she knew, but the troubles of others are 


IIO 


CELIA. 


111 


apt to seem easier to bear than one’s own, just 
as in bad weather the best walking is always 
on the other side of the street. 

Celia was warm and tired, and the dim, cool 
room was grateful to her as she sat resting in 
silence while Miss Betty fluttered back and 
forth. 

“ Perhaps you’ll think I’d better mind my own 
business,” she said, returning after a moment’s 
absence, “but here is something I saw in the 
Gazette . It might be worth trying.” 

Celia knew by heart the advertisement held 
out to her. “Work at home. Fifteen dollars 
a week made with ease, etc.” She accepted it 
meekly, however, not wishing to hurt her friend’s 
feelings. 

“Talking about minding your own business,” 
continued Miss Betty, “ in my experience it does 
not pay. I once saw Cousin Anne Gilpin look¬ 
ing at taffeta at Moseley’s, and I knew as well 
as I knew my name that the piece she selected 
wouldn’t wear. At first I thought I’d tell her; 
then I decided it was none of my business,— 
Cousin Anne was old enough to know about 
the quality of silk. And what do you think ? 


12 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


She sent me a waist pattern off it for a Christmas 
gift! ” 

Celia laughed as she rose to go. “Thank 
you for the cake, even if it isn’t a kindness. 
Mother will enjoy it,” she said. 

“You haven’t noticed my hall paper,” Miss 
Betty remarked, escorting her visitor to the door. 
“ I don’t expect you to say it is pretty, for it 
isn’t. I have to confess wall paper is too much 
for me. This entry is so small I could not put 
anything big and bright on it, so I thought I 
was getting the very thing when I selected this, 
— and what does it look like? Nothing in the 
world but a clean calico dress. Now it is done 
I see it would have been better with plain 
paper.” 

“ It is clean and unobtrusive,” Celia agreed, 
smiling. Her smiles were a little forced this 
morning, it was easy to see; and Miss Betty, 
laying a kind hand on her arm, said, “ Don’t 
worry too much, Celia. I know something about 
hard times, and you will work through after a 
while.” 

Celia felt the tears rising, and she left Miss 
Betty with an abruptness that made her ashamed 


CELIA. 


U3 

of herself as she recalled it. After the exertion 
of climbing the hill she stopped to rest on the 
rustic seat just inside her own gate. “ I wonder,” 
she asked herself, “if there is anything much 
harder to bear than seeing a house you love 
going to ruin and not to be able to save it.” 

A branch of the honeysuckle that twined 
about the gate-post touched her shoulder, as if 
to remind her there was still some sweetness 
in life after all; but she did not heed it, nor 
the rose vines and clematis which made the old 
gray house beautiful in spite of needed repairs. 
Celia saw only rotting woodwork and sagging 
steps. She thought how the flower garden had 
been her father’s pride, and how in his spare 
moments, few as they were, he was sure to be 
found digging and trimming and training, with 
the happiness of the born gardener. Ah, those 
days ! She remembered the half-incredulous 
wonder with which she had been used to hear 
people speak of the certainty of trouble. She 
had felt so certain that joy overbalanced sorrow, 
that smiles were more frequent than tears. Now 
she understood, since she had tried to hide her 
own grief under a smiling face. 


114 MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 

From her babyhood she had been her father’s 
companion and confidante, driving about the 
country with him, interested in all that concerned 
his large practice. A warm-hearted, impulsive 
man, open handed to the point of extrava¬ 
gance, Dr. Fair had had few enemies and many 
friends; and loving his work, life had been full 
of joy to him. In contrast with those happy 
years the bitterness of his last days seemed 
doubly cruel to Celia. Whenever she was tired 
and discouraged, the memory of that dark time 
rose before her. 

She had been only a child when Patterson 
Whittredge left home, but she could remember 
how warmly her father had taken his side, and 
how this had caused the first coolness between 
him and his boyhood friend, Judge Whittredge. 
The judge was influenced by his wife, and be¬ 
tween the stubborn doctor and imperious Mrs. 
Whittredge there had been no love lost. 

The storm had passed after a while, and when 
the judge’s health began to fail Dr. Fair had 
been called in. But Mrs. Whittredge had not 
forgotten, and the doctor’s position was not an 
easy one. Only his devotion to his old friend 


CELIA. 


115 

had kept him from giving up the case at the 
beginning. The Gilpin will and her father’s 
testimony to the old man’s sanity had added to 
the trouble, and upon this had come the accusa¬ 
tion which, whispered about, had broken the 
doctor’s heart. Harassed by the hard times 
and the failure of investments, denied a place 
at the bedside of his friend, he had fallen an 
easy victim to pneumonia, outliving Judge Whit- 
tredge only a few days. The memory of it lay 
like lead upon Celia’s heart. 

“ I have left you nothing but a heritage of 
misfortune, Celia,” had been his last words to 
her. 

“ Don’t think of that, father; I’ll manage,” she 
answered; and she had tried, but the solving of 
the problem was costing her the bloom of her 
youth. There were the two brothers to be edu¬ 
cated, and a delicate, almost invalid mother to 
be cared for, and an income that would little 
more than pay the taxes on their home. To 
sell or rent it was not at present practicable, and 
she could not take boarders, for no one boarded 
in Friendship. Neither could she leave to try 
her fortune in the city, so she had been doing 


II6 MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 

whatever her hand found to do. Sewing, em¬ 
broidering, a little teaching, and, in season, pic¬ 
kling and preserving. Friends had been kind, 

but Celia was proud and determined to fight 

■ 

her own battle, and sometimes, as this morning, 
kindness made her burden seem harder to 
bear. 

The worst of it was the root of bitterness in 
her heart. She could never forgive Mrs. Whit- 
tredge. Few guessed the intensity hidden be¬ 
neath Celia’s gentle manner. Only now and 
then a spark from her dark blue eyes revealed 
it. The general construction put upon her 
proud reserve was that she was unsociable. 

There is no loneliness like that of the unfor¬ 
giving heart. Celia had never felt it so strongly 
as after her meeting with Rosalind Whittredge 
in the cemetery. There had been something in 
the soft gaze of the gray eyes that she could 
not forget. It had made her take up the rose 
again after she flung it away and carry it home 
with her. 

But she must not linger here any longer. 
There was an order from the Exchange in the 
city which should be promptly filled if she hoped 


CELIA. 117 

for others. As she rose she confronted Morgan 
entering the gate. 

'‘Good morning,” he said, and there was an 
odd sort of embarrassment in his manner as he 
added, “ Some of your window frames need fix¬ 
ing, Miss Celia.” 

She smiled and shook her head. Can’t 
afford it.” 

“ Miss Celia, let me do it. I’ve lots of time, 
and the doctor was very good to me,” he said. 

Again Celia shook her head, but the hurt look 
on Morgan’s face made her relent. “Well, per¬ 
haps the worst ones,” she spelled. She would 
trust to being able to make it up to him some¬ 
time. 

“That’s right,” he exclaimed, joyfully, adding, 
as he turned to go, “ Don’t you worry, Miss 
Celia. There’s good in it somewhere.” 


CHAPTER ELEVENTH. 


MAKING FRIENDS. 

“ Is not that neighborly ? ” 

M ISS BETTY’S tea party was the begin¬ 
ning of a new and happier state of 
affairs for Rosalind; one pleasant thing followed 
another. There were letters from the travellers, 
long and delightful and full of the genial spirit 
of the Forest, making her more than ever cer¬ 
tain that they and she were alike journeying 
beneath its shelter, and at some turn of the road 
would surely meet again. 

Mrs. Whittredge also had a letter. “ I trust 
you will not keep Rosalind secluded,” her son 
wrote. “ I want her to have companions of her 
own age, and to learn to know and love the old 
town as I loved it. She has lived too much with 
Louis and me and story books; it is time she 
was waking up.” 

This explains why the Roberts children and 
118 


MAKING FRIENDS. 


HQ 

the Partons received special invitations to call 
on Rosalind. Friendship began to seem to her 
a very different place as her acquaintance with 
it grew and neighborly relations were established 
with Maurice and Katherine. The gap in the 
hedge became a daily meeting-place, and grew 
slowly, but steadily, wider. 

A few days after the tea party, Katherine 
asked Rosalind to go out to the creek with her, 
and on the way they stopped for Belle. While 
she went to find her hat, Rosalind made the 
acquaintance of the colonel and several dogs. 
Then the three strolled along the wide street, 
under the shade of tall maples, past pleasant 
gardens and inviting houses, until the street 
turned into a country road, and before them 
was Red Hill and the little bridge over Friendly 
Creek at its foot. 

Under the bridge the water rippled and 
splashed over the stones, and out of sight, back 
somewhere among the trees, it could be heard 
rushing over a dam. The children seated them¬ 
selves on a bit of pebbly beach. 

“ How nice to be near the real country! ” 
Rosalind exclaimed. “ At home we are near the 


120 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


park, but that is not the real country. We have 
to go miles to get there.” 

“ But there are such lovely stores and things 
in the city,” said Katherine. 

“ Still, you can’t go about by yourself, as you 
can here,” Rosalind answered; and Belle added, 
“ I like to go to the city for a little while, but 
I’d rather live in Friendship, where the houses 
aren’t so close together.” 

As they sat there, throwing stones in the 
water and writing in the sand, Rosalind heard 
a great deal about school, which would close 
next week, — how the girls had rushed to the 
window to see her and had lost their recess, 
and how Belle had been sent to the office, be¬ 
sides, for making chalk dishes. It was all very 
amusing, but she could not understand why the 
girls wanted to see her. 

“ Well, you know they are all interested in 
your house, and in Miss Genevieve; and then 
everybody was surprised at your coming to visit 
your grandmother.” 

“ I can’t see why,” Rosalind said, opening 
her eyes. 

“Oh, well — because you never had before, 


MAKING FRIENDS. 


121 


you know.” Belle’s manner was hesitating, as 
if she felt conscious of being on dangerous 
ground. 

What she said was certainly true. Rosalind 
herself did not exactly understand it. She knew 
only that there had been some reason why her 
father had not visited his old home for many 
years. She wondered if these girls knew more 
about it than she. 

“You see, you are something new,” Belle 
added, laughing. “ Didn’t Miss Celia scold us 
that morning, Katherine ? ” 

“Why, no, Belle, she didn’t exactly scold,” 
said Katherine. 

“ She didn’t throw back her head and frown 
and say ‘Young ladies, I am amazed!’ — here 
Bell gave an excellent imitation of Mrs. Graham’s 
manner — “so you don’t call it scolding. She just 
said, ‘Girls, I don’t know what to think!’ and we 
felt as mean! I love Miss Celia.” 

“So do I,” echoed Katherine. 

“Is she one of your teachers?” Rosalind 
asked. 

“Yes; she is Miss Celia Fair. She teaches 
drawing and sometimes keeps study hour, and 


122 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


she is as sweet as she can be,” Belle concluded, 
with enthusiasm. 

The name brought to mind one of Rosalind’s 
greatest puzzles, — the hillside, the young lady 
who looked as if she might be as Belle de¬ 
scribed her — sweet; the strange incident of 
the rose, and Aunt Genevieve’s words, “We 
have nothing to do with the Fairs.” 

“ I saw her once,” she remarked gravely. 

“ I forgot the Fairs and the Whittredges don’t 
speak. Perhaps you know about it,” said Belle. 

Rosalind shook her head. 

“I think it was about the will; wasn’t it, 
Katherine? Mrs. Whittredge wanted to break 
it because she thought Mr. Gilpin was crazy, 
but Dr. Fair said he wasn’t, and testified in 
court.” 

Rosalind listened with interest. “Isn’t Dr. 
Fair dead?” she asked. 

“Yes. He used to be our doctor, and I liked 
him so much.” 

“The Fairs have lost all their money now, 
so Miss Celia has to teach and do all sorts of 
things,” Katherine remarked. 

“Her name belongs to the Forest,” thought 


MAKING FRIENDS. 


123 


Rosalind, looking at the ripples. Belle had 
thrown herself back and was gazing at the sky 
from under her hat brim; Katherine was busy 
with a collection of pebbles; the stillness was 
broken only by the hum of insects and the mur¬ 
mur of Friendly Creek. Suddenly Rosalind 
seemed to hear with perfect distinctness what 
it said, 

“Be fr-ie-nds, be fr-ie-nds,” with a little trill 
on the words. 

From experience she knew very little of un¬ 
friendliness. All this about quarrels and hav¬ 
ing nothing to do with people was new to her. 
As she considered it she remembered that Oliver 
hated Orlando, and Rosalind’s uncle had treated 
her and her father unkindly, in the story. “ But 
it all came right in the end,” she told herself, 
“when they met in the Forest.” It was a cheer¬ 
ing thought, and she smiled over it. 

“What are you smiling at?” Belle asked, 
sitting up. 

Rosalind’s eyes had a far-away look as she 
replied, “ I was thinking about the Forest.” 

“What forest?” Belle began to ask, when a 
curly dog rushed down upon them, and on the 


124 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


bridge above their heads they saw the magician 
waving his hand. 

“Well, Curly Q. How are you?/’ cried Rosalind. 

“There’s Morgan,” said Belle; “you know 
him, don’t you ? ” 

“ Of course I do. I took tea with him last 
week,” Rosalind answered, laughing. 

“ And, Belle, she calls him the ‘ magician,’ ” 
Katherine said. 

“Do you? Why?” 

“ Because he is one. Didn’t you know it ? ” 
Rosalind danced up the slope, with Curly Q. 
after her. 

“ Rosalind says you are a magician. Are 
you ? ” Belle spelled rapidly when they had joined 
Morgan on the bridge. 

The old man’s eyes twinkled as he replied, 
“That’s a secret; you mustn’t tell anybody.” 

“Ask him if he knows about the Forest,” said 
Rosalind. 

Belle asked the question. 

Morgan laughed. “ ‘ Where the birds sing— ’ ” 
he quoted. 

“Tell me about it, please,” begged Belle. 
“ Does Katherine know ? ” 


MAKING FRIENDS. 


125 


Rosalind promised she would sometime; and 
as Katherine did not know either, and as it was 
growing late, Belle agreed to wait. 

It was rather an odd and pleasant sight, if 
any one had stopped to think of it — the old 
man with his bright, wistful eyes, his tool box 
on his shoulder, and his three companions, walk¬ 
ing home together. Demure Katherine, dainty 
Rosalind, saucy Belle, — all as merry as merry 
could be, — and Curly Q. running in and out 
among them in an ecstasy of delight, and at 
imminent danger of upsetting somebody. 

“ Well, Pigeon, how do you like your new 
friend ? ” asked the colonel, as his daughter took 
her seat beside him on the door-step. 

Belle gazed thoughtfully across the lawn. “ I 
like her/’ she answered, “but she is funny. I 
suppose it is because she hasn’t gone much to 
school. She isn’t like Charlotte, or Katherine, 
or me. She isn’t prim, and yet — it is queer, 
father, but she makes me feel as I do when I 
am with Miss Celia — like behaving.” 

The colonel laughed his hearty ha, ha! “I 
hope you’ll cultivate her society,” he said, add¬ 
ing, “she is like Pat, as high-toned a fellow 


126 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


as ever lived. He was something of a dreamer, 
too, and this child has the eyes of a poet.” 

“ They are gray,” remarked Belle. “ But I 
know what you mean, father; she looks as if she 
saw things far away. She was looking so this 
afternoon, and when I asked her what she was 
thinking about she said ‘the forest.’ I don’t 
know what she meant, but Morgan knew.” 

“You have plenty of sense,” said her father, 
looking fondly upon her. 

“ Of course I have, I am your child,” laughed 
Belle, jumping up to give him a hug. 


CHAPTER TWELFTH. 


THE GILPIN PLACE. 

“ This is the Forest of Arden.’ 

R OSALIND, walking in the garden next 
morning, heard her name called from the 
other side of the hedge. 

“Is that you, Maurice?” she asked, bending 
to peep through the narrow opening where they 
had first become acquainted. 

“ Yes ; don’t you want to go up to the Gilpin 
place ? ” 

“ I’d rather go there than anywhere,” Rosalind 
assented eagerly, “I am so interested in Aunt 
Patricia and the ring.” 

“ The house is closed, you know, but the 
grounds are pretty. Til meet you at the gate 
whenever you are ready,” Maurice answered. 

He considered Rosalind his special friend by 
right of first acquaintance, and had no thought 
of allowing Katherine or Belle to get the advan- 


127 


128 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


tage of him, and for this reason he had planned 
the expedition. He also wished to talk over “As 
You Like It” without interruption, and was de¬ 
cidedly provoked when she called to Katherine, 
who was shelling peas "on the side porch, “We 
are going to the Gilpin place; can’t you come 
when you have finished?” 

Katherine, who had tried in vain to find out 
from Maurice where he was going, was more 
than delighted at the invitation. 

“ It would have been nicer if we had stayed to 
help her,” Rosalind remarked, as they walked 
up the street. 

“Girls’ work,” Maurice growled. 

“Well, I am a girl. And why shouldn’t boys 
shell peas ? They eat them.” 

Maurice scorned such logic, but her eyes were 
so merry it was with an effort he kept himself 
from smiling. 

“Katherine is such a bother,” he said. 

“ I like Katherine ; she is so pleasant,” Rosa¬ 
lind observed, with a side glance at her companion. 

“ Perhaps you’d rather go with her and have 
me stay at home?” he suggested, with much 
dignity. 


THE GILPIN PLACE. 


l2§ 

“ And shell peas ? ” Rosalind laughed. 

What a provoking girl this was! And yet he 
liked her, and somehow at the vision of himself 
shelling peas he couldn’t help laughing, too, and 
thus harmony was restored. 

After climbing the hill, a good deal of exer¬ 
tion for Maurice with his crutch, they paused to 
rest on the steps leading up from the gate of 
the Gilpin place. 

Rosalind, looking at the dignified mansion 
among the trees, felt the atmosphere of mys¬ 
terious interest that always surrounds a closed 
and deserted house, particularly an old one upon 
which several generations have left their impress. 
She thought of the young and lovely Patricia, 
and the sailor lover who never came back. 

“Do you know, I feel very sorry for Aunt 
Patricia, Maurice. To have some one you love 
never come back — it must be very hard. I can 
understand a little now since father and cousin 
Louis went away. Miss Betty said she bore it 
bravely, too.” 

“ It was a long time ago,” said Maurice, feeling 
that it was a waste of emotion to grieve over 
things that had happened so far back in the past. 


K 


MR. PATS LITTLE GIRL. 


130 

“ But there is the ring. It is not so very long 
ago since that was here. Don’t you wish we 
could go into the house and look for it? I 
believe it is there somewhere; ” Rosalind spoke 
with assurance. 

“ But they searched every nook and cranny,” 
said Maurice. 

“If it were in a story, there would be a secret 
drawer somewhere. I wonder if Aunt Patricia 
isn’t sorry it is lost.” Rosalind sat in silence for 
a few moments, looking down at the town. “ I 
like Friendship,” she said. “There are a great 
many interesting things happening here, more 
than ever happen at home.” 

The Gilpin house stood on an elevation of its 
own, from which the ground sloped gently in all 
directions. Its late owner had cared little for 
flowers and shrubs, but had taken pride in his 
trees, which still preserved the dignity of their 
forest days. At the back of the house there was 
a view of the little winding river, and halfway 
down the slope a once flourishing vegetable gar¬ 
den had turned itself into a picturesque wilder¬ 
ness of weeds. The charm of it all grew upon 
Rosalind as they walked about. 


THE GILPIN PLACE. 


I 3 I 

“ I should like to live here, Maurice. I like 
it better than our garden — grandmamma’s, I 
mean. Let’s sit on the grass, where we can see 
the river.” 

Not far from them was the rustic summer-house 
which Miss Betty had called Patricia’s arbor. 

“ Maurice,” Rosalind exclaimed, with conviction 
in her tone, “this is the Forest of Arden.” 

“ You talk about it as if it were all true, instead 
of only a story,” said Maurice. 

“But it is true — one kind of true. Cousin 
Louis explained it to me once — ever so long ago, 
when I had a sore throat and couldn’t go to the 
Christmas tree, at the president’s. I cried and 
was dreadfully cross, and wouldn’t look at my 
Christmas things; and after a while he asked me 
if I should like to live in the Forest of Arden. I 
was so surprised I stopped crying, and he told 
me that when we were brave and happy, we made 
a pleasant place for ourselves, where lovely 
things could happen, and when we were cross 
and miserable we made a desert for ourselves, 
where pleasant things couldn’t possibly come 
about, just as if you want flowers to grow, you 
have to have good soil. 


132 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


“ Cousin Louis can tell things in a very interest¬ 
ing way, and by and by I began to feel ashamed, 
and I made up my mind to try it; and when I told 
father, he said he would try too, and we found it 
was really true, Maurice. He and Cousin Louis 
and I — oh, we had such good times! We even 
told the president about it, and Cousin Louis said 
he was going to start a secret society of the 
Forest of Arden. Then he was ill, and every¬ 
thing stopped. 

“ I know it isn’t easy to stay in the Forest 
always, particularly when you are dreadfully lone¬ 
some, but the magician says if you keep on try¬ 
ing you will find the good in it after a while.” 

“How can there be good in bad things?” 
Maurice demanded. 

“ Did you read what was in my book ? I know 
it by heart. ‘ If we choose, we may walk always 
in the Forest, where the birds sing and the sun¬ 
light sifts through the trees, where, although we 
sometimes grow footsore and hungry, we know 
that the goal is sure.’ That means it will all 
come right in the end. Don’t you know how, in 
the story, the people who hated each other all 
came to be friends in the Forest?” 


THE GILPIN PLACE. 


133 


The sun travelling around the beech tree en¬ 
croached upon their resting-place, and Maurice 
proposed moving farther down the slope. ‘‘Tell 
me about the secret society,” he said, as they 
again settled themselves. 

“ It was a very nice plan,” Rosalind answered, 
clasping her knees and looking up into the tree 
top. “ He told me about it one evening when 
he wasn’t well and had to lie on the sofa, while 
father did the proofs. Only those could belong 
who made the best of things and knew the 
secret of the Forest. We were sure the presi¬ 
dent would join because he had had a great 
trouble and was very brave; and there was Mrs. 
Brown, who had lost all her money, and kept 
house for us. Then, I didn’t have anything much 
to be brave about, but I have since, for I did so 
want to go with father and Cousin Louis. Per¬ 
haps that doesn’t seem much,” she added apolo¬ 
getically, “‘but small things count,’ Cousin Louis 
said.” 

“ I should think it might,” Maurice agreed. 

“ Aunt Patricia could have belonged,” said 
Rosalind, her eyes still in the tree top. “ I won¬ 
der if she knew about the Forest ? ” 


134 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


Maurice felt stirred by the picture her words 
called up of a great company of people all bear¬ 
ing hard things bravely. “There is Morgan,” 
he suggested. “ It must be hard to be deaf, yet 
he is always cheerful.” 

“ Yes, indeed, he could belong. He knows the 
secret of the Forest. And Maurice, you have 
a beautiful chance to be brave.” 

Maurice’s face grew red, he pushed his crutch 
impatiently from him. “ I haven’t been brave,” 
he said. 

“No, you haven’t,” Rosalind acknowledged 
frankly; “but then you did not know about the 
Forest. Maurice, let’s start a society, you and 
I, and perhaps some of the others will join. The 
magician will, I know.” 

A shrill whistle was heard at this moment. 

“It is Japk,” said Maurice; and sure enough 
that individual presently appeared and dropped 
down beside them, breathless from his run up 
the hill. 

“ What are you two doing ? ” he puffed. 

“ Talking. How warm you are ! ” and Rosalind 
offered her broad-brimmed hat for a fan. “ Have 
you seen anything of Katherine?” 


THE GILPIN PLACE. 


135 


“ She and Belle are on the way. Say, what 
were you talking about? It seemed to be inter¬ 
esting.” Jack rolled over on his back and 
blinked at the sky. 

Rosalind looked at Maurice. “ Would you 
tell him?” 

“ No,” was the prompt reply, “he wouldn’t care 
for it.” He felt certain harum-scarum Jack 
would only be bored by the Forest, perhaps 
would make fun. 

Jack turned his face to Rosalind, “Tell me,” 
he urged; “Maurice doesn’t know what I like.” 

“ I will, then, as soon as the girls come.” 

It was not long before Belle was heard calling, 
and she and Katherine came running across the 
grass and joined the group under the tree. 

“ We are waiting for you; Jack wants to hear 
about the Forest,” said Rosalind. 

“ Yes, you promised to tell us what you meant, 
and how Morgan came to know about it.” Belle 
cast her hat on the grass and shook back her 
hair. 

Maurice looked discontented. Jack and Belle 
would think it silly, and Katherine wouldn’t un¬ 
derstand. 


136 MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 

“ Maurice knows about it, and perhaps some of 
the rest of you have read the story of the Forest 
of Arden,” began Rosalind. 

Belle had, but Katherine and Jack had not so 
much as heard of it, so Rosalind told the story 
of the banished Duke and his followers who lived 
in the Forest, and were happy because they had 
learned to make the best of things and to find 
good even in trouble and disappointment; how 
Rosalind, the daughter of the Duke, was also 
banished, and with her cousin and the clown went 
to seek her father in the Forest; how Orlando, 
turned out of his home by his cruel elder brother, 
also went to the Forest in company with his 
old servant Adam; of their adventures there; and 
how finally the wicked Duke and the heartless 
brother, who were pursuing the runaways, came 
under the spell of the same Forest and repented 
of their evil deeds; and the story ended in for¬ 
giveness and love under the greenwood tree. 

It was just the day and place for the story. 
The joyous, lavish beauty of summer was every¬ 
where around them, and as Rosalind told it her 
eyes took on the look Belle had described to her 
father. There was silence after she finished. 


THE GILPIN PLACE. 


137 


Jack lay with his head on his arms, looking out on 
the river; Maurice was drawing beech leaves in 
his note-book, the discontent all gone from his 
face; Belle absently plaited the hem of her 
dress; while Katherine twisted a wreath of honey¬ 
suckle around her hat. 

“Is that all?” Belle asked, after a little. 

“ That is the story; then I was telling 
Maurice about the meaning Cousin Louis found 
in it.” 

“Tell us that,” said Jack. 

Rosalind explained the Forest idea, and the 
plan for a secret society. This at once appealed 
to Belle. 

“That would be fun,” she exclaimed. “We 
could have ‘The Forest’ for a watchword, and 
hold meetings out of doors somewhere.” 

“ Yes; ‘ under the greenwood tree,’ ” said 

Maurice. 

“I don’t understand,” said Katherine. “What 
are we to do ? ” 

“We promise to bear hard things bravely, 
and — ” 

“ Let’s be like Robin Hood,” Belle interrupted, 
“and help down-trodden people.” 


138 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


“ Do you know any ? ” asked her brother, turn¬ 
ing over. 

“Jack makes me think of the dormouse in 
4 Alice,’ ” laughed Rosalind. “He is always 
going to sleep and waking up.” 

“ I’ll tell you ! ” cried Belle, “ let’s search for 
the ring.” 

“ But we don’t know where to look,” said 
Katherine. 

“A thing isn’t much lost if you know where 
to look, goosie,” answered Maurice. 

“You see, it is partly pretend,” Rosalind ex¬ 
plained. “ I think it is a beautiful idea, don’t 
you, boys?” she asked. 

“ Maurice, are you going to promise to bear 
hard things bravely ?” Jack asked, with a quizzi¬ 
cal look. It seemed to tickle him greatly, for 
he went off into a fit of laughing. “ ‘ See, the 
conquering hero comes,’ ” he hummed. 

Maurice gave him a thump with his crutch. 
“ You aren’t much of a hero, either,” he said. 
“Who took the roof off when his tooth was 
pulled?” 

“ But that hurt,” said Jack, still laughing. 

“ I am willing to own I have been making an 


THE GILPIN PLACE. 


39 


awful fuss, but someway I hadn’t thought about 
it, and I am willing to try if the rest are.” 

“ But I haven’t any trouble,” said Katherine. 

“ Everybody has hard things to bear some¬ 
times,” replied Rosalind. 

“ Doesn’t Maurice ever snub you ? ” asked irre¬ 
pressible Jack. 

“ What shall we call our society ? ” Rosalind 
inquired, looking around the group for sugges¬ 
tions. 

Maurice tore a leaf from his note-book and 
divided it carefully into five parts, handing a slip 
to each of his companions. 

“ Now be still for a while and think, and then 
write down a name.” 

All was quiet for a time. “ Now,” said Mau¬ 
rice, “what is yours, Rosalind?” 

“The Secret Society of the Forest,” said 
Rosalind. 

“ Sons and Daughters of the Forest,” an¬ 
nounced Belle. 

“The Forest Society,” said Jack. 

Katherine had not been able to think of a 
name. Maurice’s was “The Arden Foresters,” 
suggested, he said, by Belle’s “ Robin Hood.” 


140 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


“I believe it is the best,” said Rosalind, and 
so they all agreed finally, and the new society 
was named. 

“ Now we must have a book and write in it 
what we promise,” said Belle. 

“ Let’s appoint Rosalind and Maurice to draw 
up a — what do you call it?” suggested Jack. 

“ I know,” said Belle; “ a constitution.” 

“ I meant to go into Patricia’s Arbor, and I 
forgot,” remarked Rosalind, as they walked home 
together. 

“ I thought I saw some one sitting there when 
Belle and I passed,” said Katherine. 


CHAPTER THIRTEENTH. 


in Patricia’s arbor. 

“ O, how full of briers is this working-day world.” 

O N this same bright morning when Rosalind 
for the first time saw the Gilpin place, 
Celia Fair carried her sewing, a piece of dainty 
lace work, to the old rustic summer-house. It 
made some variety in the monotony of things to 
sit here where she could lift her eyes now and 
then, and looking far away across the river to 
the hills, let them rest on a bit of sunny road 
that for a little space emerged from the shadow 
to disappear again on its winding way. 

On this stretch of road the sunshine seemed 
always to lie warm and bright, and to Celia it 
brought a sense of restfulness. Perhaps in some 
far-off time the sunlight would again lie on her 
path. 

She loved the old place, and the thought that 
in all probability it would soon pass into the 


142 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


hands of strangers, troubled her. She had often 
sat here in Patricia’s Arbor, beside old Thomas 
Gilpin, and listened to his reminiscences. She 
had been a favorite with the old man, all of the 
tenderness of whose nature had spent itself upon 
the wife who lived only a brief time; and in 
Celia’s relationship to her, distant though it was, 
lay the secret of his regard. 

One of her earliest recollections was of taking 
tea at the Gilpin house in company with Gene¬ 
vieve and Allan Whittredge. Mild, fair-faced 
Miss Anne and her grim-visaged, cross-grained 
brother were a strangely assorted pair. Celia’s 
childish soul had been filled with awe on these 
occasions. She had difficulty in keeping her 
seat in the stiff old haircloth chairs, or in cross¬ 
ing the polished floor of the drawing-room with¬ 
out slipping. 

At one end of this room stood the ancient 
spinet, long ago the property of her own great¬ 
grandmother, which she was told would some 
day be hers. Celia had been proud of this until 
Miss Anne, displaying her chief treasures, Patri¬ 
cia’s miniature and ring, remarked upon Gene¬ 
vieve’s likeness to her great-aunt. Genevieve, 


IN PATRICIA’S ARBOR. 


143 


with the ring on her finger, looked complacently 
over her shoulder at the long mirror, and Celia 
was smitten with sudden envy. A great-grand¬ 
mother called Saint Cecilia was not half so 
interesting as a beautiful great-aunt with a roman¬ 
tic love story; and an old and useless spinet not 
to be compared to a ring like Patricia’s. That 
the ring was to be Genevieve’s she never doubted. 

Allan had made fun of his sister and treated 
heirlooms in general with scorn, calling Celia to 
look at a print of Jonah in knee breeches and 
shoe buckles, emerging from the mouth of the 
whale. Allan always saw the fun in things. 

Between those days and the present there was 
a great gulf fixed. She had resolutely put away 
from her all these memories, and to-day she 
was annoyed that they should return in such 
force. They brought only pain to her tired 
heart. 

Her hands fell in her lap, and she gazed with 
unseeing eyes at the hills. After all, Patricia, 
mourning her lover, had not known the bitterest 
sorrow. 

The thought of her work, which must be done, 
aroused her. “What a weak creature I am, 


144 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


thinking my lot harder than that of any one else,” 
she exclaimed, and taking up her needle she 
determinedly fixed her mind on the present. 
There was the suit Tom needed, and the grocery 
bill that should be paid the first of the month. 
She must work hard and not waste time in 
regrets. The summer that meant leisure and 
pleasure for many, meant only added cares for 
her. 

A surprising announcement broke in upon these 
dreary thoughts : “ This is the Forest of Arden ! ” 

The voice was a sweet, girlish one, and came 
from somewhere behind the arbor, but the vines 
grew so thick she could not get a glimpse of the 
speaker. Celia went on with her work, feeling 
at first a little annoyed that her quiet should be 
disturbed, yet the suggestion of sylvan joy in the 
words grew upon her. The Forest of Arden — 
where they fleeted the time carelessly — what a 
rest for tired spirits it seemed to offer! 

“If we will, we may travel always in the For¬ 
est, where the birds sing and the sunlight sifts 
through the trees — ” the same voice repeated. 
A stir of wind set the leaves rustling, and Celia 
lost the rest. 


IN PATRICIA’S ARBOR. 


145 


‘‘That means it will all come right in the end.” 

“The people who hated each other all came 
to be friends in the Forest.” 

Fragments like these floated in to Celia. Then 
she heard Maurice Roberts’s voice saying, “ Let’s 
go farther down the slope.” She went to the 
door of the arbor and looked out. As she had 
suspected, Maurice’s companion was the girl she 
had encountered in the cemetery. Rosalind car¬ 
ried her hat in her hand, and as they crossed 
an open space the sunshine turned her hair to 
gold. 

Celia went back to her work. “ It will all 
come right in the end,” — this was what Morgan 
had told her yesterday; it was strange that this 
child should cross her path again, and with the 
same message. 

“Even people who hated each other came to 
be friends in the Forest.” To travel always in 
the Forest! How restful the idea! How would 
it seem not to hate anybody ? To be really at 
peace ? But it was not possible for her. 

Her thoughts would persist in dwelling upon 
Rosalind Whittredge. Again she recalled with 
shame the impulse that made her scorn the rose. 


146 MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 

She was glad she had picked it up and carried 
it home. Why should she have any feeling 
against Patterson Whittredge’s daughter? Had 
not her father taken Patterson’s side in the fam¬ 
ily trouble over his marriage ? Ah, but that 
was long ago, and it was hard to forget that 
Rosalind, with her sweet, serious eyes, was after 
all Mrs. Whittredge’s granddaughter, Genevieve’s 
niece. 

“ I wish she wasn’t, and that I could see her 
and speak to her, and ask her what she means 
by the Forest,” she thought. “She is gentle 
and sweet; she is not like the Whittredges. Why 
should I dislike her because she belongs to them ? 
Oh, it is dreadful to hate people! ” Celia hid 
her face in her hands, “but I do — I do,” she 
added. 


CHAPTER FOURTEENTH. 


THE ARDEN FORESTERS. 

“Like the old Robin Hood of England.” 

“ A RTICLE I. This Society shall be called 
XX ‘The Arden Foresters,’” read Maurice. 
“That will do, won’t it?” 

“Yes; and then let’s put the object. It doesn’t 
come next in this, but we shan’t need so many 
articles,” Rosalind answered, running her finger 
down the page of a blue-bound book. 

The committee appointed to draw up a con¬ 
stitution for The Arden Foresters had set about 
it with great seriousness. Their surroundings 
may have had something to do with this, for 
their papers were spread out on the leather-cov¬ 
ered table in the directors’ room at the bank, 
immediately under the eye of a former president, 
whose portrait hung over the mantel-piece, 
while the large-faced clock on the wall gave 
forth its majestic “tick, tock.” 


147 


148 MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 

The blue book which was serving as a model, 
Rosalind had found on her aunt’s table, and 
asked permission to use. 

“Well, then, ‘Article II. The object of this 
Society shall be, To remember the Secret of 
the Forest; to bear hard things bravely; to 
search for the ring — ’ Anything else?” 

“ Maurice, that is beautiful. Is there anything 
else ? ” Rosalind pressed her lips with a forefinger. 

“ Belle wanted to have ‘ to help the needy,* 
or something of the kind.” 

“The down-trodden,” said Rosalind, laughing. 
“ I don’t like that, do you ? ” 

“ Let’s wait; we may think of something after a 
while. Where shall we meet ? That might come 
next.” 

“Under the trees at the Gilpin place, and 
when it rains we can go to Patricia’s Arbor. 
What fun it would be to have a meeting in the 
rain! ” A great pattering on the window-pane 
emphasized Rosalind’s remark. 

Maurice wrote busily for a minute, looking up 
to ask, “What day shall we meet?” 

“ Let’s not say any day, and then we can do 
as we choose,” Rosalind suggested, feeling that 


THE ARDEN FORESTERS. 


149 


the restrictions of a constitution might be bur¬ 
densome. 

Article III then read: “This Society shall 
hold its meetings at the Gilpin place.” 

“ Maurice, here are qualifications for member¬ 
ship. Ought we to have that?” 

“ I don’t know; what are they ? ” 

Rosalind bent over the book. “ Let me 
see — ‘ Intelligence, character, and — ’ such a 
funny word. ‘Reciprocity’; what is 
that ? ” 

Maurice looked over her shoulder, “‘R e c — ’ 
Oh, I know, ‘ reciprocity.’ ” 

“ What does it mean ? ” Rosalind asked. 

“ I think it is something political.” 

“Then we don’t want it.” 

However, as there was a dictionary in the 
room, it was thought best to consult it. 

“Here it is, ‘mutual giving and returning,’” 
Maurice announced, when he found the place. 

“ ‘ Giving and returning,’ ” Rosalind repeated; 
“ Maurice, look for ‘ mutual.’ ” 

“It means almost the same thing, ‘something 
reciprocal, in common,’ ” he said presently. 

“Then it means to do things for each other. 


50 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


I like that. Why couldn’t we put that in 
Article II? It means ‘helping.’” 

“How about qualifications, then?” asked 
Maurice. 

“ I don’t think I’d have any. We’ll only ask 
the people we want.” 

So reciprocity was added to Article II. 
As he wrote, Maurice laughed. “ I’ll bet they 
won’t any of them know what it means,” he 
said. 

“ Then Article IV will be the watchword, 
‘The Forest,’” added Rosalind. “And, Maurice, 
don’t you think it would be nice to choose a 
leaf for a badge ? But perhaps we’d better 
decide that at the next meeting. Don’t you 
think it is going to be fun ? ” 

Maurice agreed that it was, feeling sure 
Jack and Belle and Katherine must be im¬ 
pressed with the result of their afternoon’s 
work. He had a new blank-book ready for 
the constitution, and on the first page he 
had already written : “ The Arden Foresters — 
a Secret Society,” and at Rosalind’s sugges¬ 
tion he now added the motto, “ Good in every¬ 
thing.” 


THE ARDEN FORESTERS. 


15 


They surveyed it with pride, and Rosalind 
said, “ I am just crazy to show it to somebody. 
Where is Katherine ? ” 

But Maurice thought it wouldn’t be fair to 
the others to show it to her first. 

The rain continued to patter against the 
window. Rosalind sat with her elbows on the 
table, and her chin in her hands, watching 
Maurice as he folded the sheet of legal-cap 
paper on which the constitution was written, and 
placed it in the book. 

“ Maurice,” she said suddenly, lifting her eyes 
to the benevolent face of the bank president, 
‘‘do you know Miss Celia Fair?” 

“ Miss Celia ? Why, of course I do.” 

“ Everybody seems to know everybody in 
Friendship. It’s funny,” Rosalind commented 
thoughtfully. “ Then you can tell me just what 
sort of a person she is.” 

“ She is tip-top; I like Miss Celia,” Maurice 
replied, with emphasis. 

“ Do you think she is kind ? ” 

“Yes, indeed. The day I felt so badly about 
not going fishing, — the day you spoke to me 
through the hedge, — she came in and sat on 


152 MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 

the step and tried to cheer me up. Oh, yes, 
Miss Celia is kind.” 

“ But do you think she would be kind to some 
one she didn’t know ? ” Rosalind persisted. 

Maurice looked at her in surprise, she seemed 
so much in earnest in these inquiries. “ How 
can you be kind to people you don’t know?” 
he asked. 

“ I’ll tell you about it if you won’t tell. You 
see I am not quite sure.” Then Rosalind told 
the incident of her meeting with Miss Fair in 
the cemetery. “She looked pleasant and as if 
she wanted to be friends at first, but she didn’t 
say anything after I told her my name, and 
when I looked back, I am sure — almost sure — 
I saw her throw the rose away.” 

“ Miss Celia wouldn’t do a thing like that,” 
Maurice asserted stoutly. “ She couldn’t have 
any reason for it; she doesn’t know you.” 

“ Do you really think she wouldn’t ? ” Rosalind 
asked, in a tone of relief. “You know there is 
a kind of a quarrel between her family and ours, — 
Belle said so, — and I thought perhaps that had 
something to do with it; but I am going to try 
to think I was mistaken about the rose.” 




(( 


LOOKING UP HE DISCOVERED HIS VISITORS.” 










THE ARDEN FORESTERS. 


153 


While they talked the rain had ceased, and 
some rays of watery sunshine found their way in 
at the window. 

“ Let’s go to the magician’s and show him the con¬ 
stitution and ask him to join,” Rosalind proposed. 

Maurice was willing, and without a thought 
of the clouds they started gayly up the street. 
They were almost there when Rosalind said, 
“ I believe it is going to rain, and we haven’t 
an umbrella.” 

“ Perhaps we shall have to stay to supper with 
Morgan,” Maurice suggested, laughing. 

“ I had a very good supper there,” said Rosa¬ 
lind. “ I don’t see why everybody should think 
it was so very funny in me to go.” 

“No one else would have done it, that’s all.” 

When they looked in at the door of the magi¬ 
cian’s shop, he was busy with some scraps of 
leather. Around him were bottomless chairs, 
topless tables, and melancholy sofas with sagging 
springs exposed to view, and in one corner a tall, 
empty clock-case. With his spectacles on the 
tip of his nose and a pair of large shears in his 
hand, Morgan might have sat for the picture of 
some wonder-working genius. Looking up, he 


154 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


discovered his visitors, and a smile illumined 
his rugged face, as he waved them a welcome 
with the big shears. He was never too busy 
for company. 

“Come in, come in,” he said; and jumping up 
he got out a feather duster and whisked off a 
chair for Rosalind, remarking that dust didn’t 
hurt boys. 

Rosalind laid the book on the table among the 
scraps of leather, open at the page where Maurice 
had written the name of the society and the 
motto. Pointing to it, they explained that they 
wished him to join. 

Adjusting his spectacles, the magician carefully 
read the constitution. 

“The Secret of the Forest? What’s that?” he 
asked. 

Rosalind pointed to the motto, whereupon he 
nodded approvingly, and went on. “Search for 
the ring — ” he looked up questioningly; but 
when it was explained, he shook his head. 
“ Stolen,” he said. 

Reciprocity seemed to amuse him greatly. He 
repeated it several times, glancing from one to 
the other of his visitors. 



THE ARDEN FORESTERS. 


155 


“ Do you suppose he knows what it means ? ” 
Maurice asked Rosalind. 

The magician’s quick eyes understood the 
question. “Golden Rule?” he asked. 

“ Why, I did not think of that! ” cried Rosa¬ 
lind. 

“ Morgan has a lot of sense,” Maurice replied, 
with an air of proprietorship. 

When he had read it all, the magician nodded 
approvingly. “ I’ll have to join because you have 
my motto,” he said. 

“Then we have six members to begin with,” 
Rosalind remarked joyfully. 

By this time it had grown dark again and the 
rain was beginning to fall, and while the magi¬ 
cian, having a good deal on hand, continued his 
work, Maurice and Rosalind sat on the claw¬ 
footed sofa, regardless of dust. Curly Q. and 
Crisscross both sought refuge in the shop, and 
the latter proved himself capable of sociability 
by jumping up beside Rosalind. 

“ Morgan really does make me think of a magi¬ 
cian,” she said, stroking Crisscross and looking 
at the cabinet-maker. “ I saw a picture once 
called ‘The Magician’s Doorway.’ It was all of 


i 5 6 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


rich, polished marble, and you could look down 
a long dim passage where a blue light burned. 
Just at the entrance a splendid tiger was chained, 
and above his head hung a silver horn.” 

“ Was the horn to call the magician ? ” asked 
Maurice. 

“Yes, I suppose so; and you couldn’t get it 
without going very near the tiger. Cousin Louis 
promised to write a story about it, but he never 
had time.” 

A flash of lightning, followed immediately by a 
clap of thunder, startled them. Maurice went to 
the door and looked out. “ It is going to be a 
big storm,” he said. 

As he spoke the rain began to fall in torrents, 
hiding Miss Betty’s house across the street from 
view. Suddenly a solitary figure with a dripping 
umbrella was almost swept into the shop. 

“ Why, Miss Celia ! ” cried Maurice. 

“ I began to think I would be drowned,” she 
said, laughing breathlessly. 

The magician dropped his shears and took her 
umbrella. 

“You are wet; we must have a fire,” he 
said. 


THE ARDEN FORESTERS. 


157 


Celia protested. A summer shower wouldn’t 
hurt. It was too warm for a fire. Rosalind 
meanwhile sat in the shadow, Crisscross beside 
her, the thought of the rose and of Aunt Gene¬ 
vieve’s words making her hope Miss Fair would 
not see her. Her face was gentle; was it pos¬ 
sible she could be unkind and disdainful ? 

The magician came to the rescue. He didn’t 
believe in quarrels anyway, and if he had con¬ 
sidered the matter he probably would have argued 
that Rosalind could have no concern with those 
she knew nothing about; and observing her in the 
corner he said, with a wave of the dripping um¬ 
brella, “This is Mr. Pat’s little girl, Miss Celia. 
You remember Mr. Pat?” 

Celia, shaking out her wet skirts, turned in 
surprise. As her eyes met Rosalind’s she smiled. 
“Yes,” was all she said. 

But after a while she came over and patted 
Crisscross, and said Rosalind must be a witch to 
have gained his affection so soon, and asked what 
she and Maurice were doing there, not as if she 
wanted an answer so much as just to be friendly. 

Rosalind felt a great relief, and her eyes were 
soft as she responded shyly. 


CHAPTER FIFTEENTH. 


A NEW MEMBER. 

“ In the circle of this Forest.” 

I N Friendship the summer was never fairly- 
ushered in until Commencements were over. 
When the boys of the Military Institute, a mile 
beyond the village, had yelled their last yell from 
the back platform of the train as it swept around 
the curve, and Mrs. Graham’s boarders had 
departed, accompanied by their trunks and the 
enthusiastic farewells of the town pupils, then, 
and not before, Friendship settled down to the 
enjoyment of picnics, crabbing parties, and moon¬ 
light excursions. 

Going away for the summer was almost un¬ 
known in Friendship; a week or two at the 
shore or in the mountains was as much as any 
of its loyal inhabitants dreamed of. To the 
few who like Genevieve Whittredge found the 
158 


A NEW MEMBER. 


159 


place dull at any season, the warm days afforded 
a welcome excuse for flitting. 

After the final decision in the Gilpin will case 
Friendship drew a long breath and acquiesced in 
the inevitable. Arguments and discussion lost 
their interest, and something like the old peace 
settled down on the town. 

The Gilpin house and its contents must now 
be sold, but summer was not an advantageous 
season, and the sale had been postponed till 
early fall in the hope of attracting from a dis¬ 
tance lovers of old furniture. 

Thus the place was left untenanted. Weeds 
ran riot in the garden, the grass crept stealthily 
over the walks, and the clematis and honey¬ 
suckle on the low stone wall mingled their sweet¬ 
ness in undisturbed luxuriance. The Arden 
Foresters were free to come and go as they 
chose, the only other trespasser being Celia Fair, 
who when her household tasks were done often 
brought her sewing to Patricia’s Arbor, with the 
feeling that her days there were numbered. 

At the Whittredges’ Genevieve was making 
her preparations to leave soon after the return 
of her brother Allan, who was looked for any 


6o 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


day. Her mother’s restless mind had taken a 
sudden fitful interest in some genealogical ques¬ 
tion, and welcoming anything that diverted her 
thoughts from herself had thrown all her ener¬ 
gies into the subject, spending most of her time 
at her desk or in reading old letters. 

Rosalind was left to go her ways; if she 
appeared at meal-time, no questions were asked. 
Miss Herbert, indeed, shook her head at such 
liberty. A girl of Rosalind’s age should be learn¬ 
ing something useful, instead of running about the 
village or poring over story books. She could 
not know that with a certain old play for a text¬ 
book the children she thought so harum-scarum 
were learning brave lessons this summer. 

Rosalind was happy. The hours when she 
was not with one or all of these new friends of 
hers were few, and these she usually spent in 
the garden, which she was beginning to love, 
with a book. She had discovered some old 
books of her father’s, given to him in his boy¬ 
hood, with his name and the date in them, in itself 
enough to cast a halo over the most stupid tale. 

When the sun shone on the garden seat be¬ 
side the white birch, there was another favorite 


A NEW MEMBER. 


161 

spot in the shade of a tall cedar, where an 
occasional stir of wind brought the spray from 
the fountain against her face. 

Yes, in spite of the puzzles, Rosalind was 
beginning to love Friendship. It was weeks since 
Great-uncle Allan had seemed to frown on her, 
and even the griffins wore a friendlier look ; as for 
the rose, she had come to doubt the evidence of 
her own eyes since that afternoon at the magi¬ 
cian’s when Miss Fair had shown such friendliness. 

The summer so dreary in prospect to Maurice 
bade fair to be endurable after all. Rosalind’s 
gray eyes, now merry, now serious, but always 
seeking the good in things, her contagious be¬ 
lief in the Forest, had stirred his manliness, 
making him conscious of his fretfulness, and 
then ashamed. His mother, who had dreaded 
the long holiday, wondered at his content. 
Katherine wondered a little too. The Forest 
of Arden made a very nice game, and it was 
pleasant to have Maurice in a good humor, but 
she did not quite understand the connection. 

Soon after the close of school Colonel Parton 
took his two older boys away on a western trip, 
leaving Jack with no resource but Maurice and 


M 


162 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


the girls. The two boys were great chums, and 
as Maurice’s knee made active sports impossible, 
Jack, too, gave them up for the most part. 

As for Belle, her indifference to Rosalind had 
turned into ardent admiration. She and Char¬ 
lotte Ellis had a sharp dispute over the new¬ 
comer. Charlotte confessed she was disappointed 
in her, and pronounced her odd, all of which 
Belle deeply resented, the result being a decided 
coolness between them. 

“ I am as glad as I can be Charlotte is going 
away this summer,” she was heard to remark. 

“ She can’t be as glad as I am that we aren’t 
going to be in the same town,” was Charlotte’s 
retort when the speech was repeated to her. 

The cleverness of Maurice and Rosalind was 
duly impressed upon the other three when the 
constitution of The Arden Foresters was read, 
and after careful consideration it had been 
copied in the blank-book, and beneath it the 
members signed their names. The excitement of 
Commencement week being over, a meeting was 
called to decide on a badge. 

It had been decided that any member might 
call a meeting, and the method was suggested 


% 


A NEW MEMBER. 


63 


by Belle. In each garden a spot was selected, — 
an althea bush at the Partons’, a corner of the 
hedge at the Roberts’s, a cedar near the gate at 
the Whittredges’, — in which the summons, a tiny 
roll of paper tied with grass, was to be deposited. 

On the morning appointed for this meeting of 
The Arden Foresters, Celia Fair, knowing noth¬ 
ing about it, of course, had just settled herself 
in the arbor with a cushion at her back and her 
work-basket beside her, when Rosalind looked 
in. She carried a book and a bunch of leaves, 
and she seemed surprised to find the summer¬ 
house occupied. Her manner was hesitating as, 
after saying good morning, she asked if Miss 
Fair had seen Maurice or Belle. 

“No; are you expecting them? Won’t you 
come in and sit down while you wait ? ” Celia 
asked, noticing the hesitation. 

“ I wonder what they have told her about 
me?” was her thought. It brought a flush to 
her face, and yet why did she care ? 

Rosalind accepted the invitation shyly. “ I 
must be early,” she said. “ I was to meet the 
others here at ten, but I went to drive first with 
grandmamma.” 


164 MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 

“It is still ten minutes of ten,” Celia said, 
looking at her watch. “Are you going to have 
a picnic ? ” 

“No; only a meeting of our society.” 

“ What sort of a society ? ” Celia asked. 

“A secret society,” Rosalind replied, with a 
demure smile. 

“ Oh, is it ? That sounds interesting, but I 
suppose I can’t know any more. What is your 
book ? That isn’t part of the secret, is it ? ” 

Rosalind slipped off the paper cover and laid 
the little volume in Celia’s lap. 

The young lady took it up, exclaiming with 
delight over the binding of soft leather, the hand¬ 
made paper, and beautiful type. It fell open at 
the fly-leaf with the inscription. 

“And Professor Sargent gave you this lovely 
book?” she said. 

Rosalind’s eyes shone at this tribute. “ Cousin 
Louis gave it to me just before he and father 
started for Japan, and he wrote that about the 
hard things because I wanted so much to go 
with them and I couldn’t,” she explained. 

“Rosalind, what was it you were talking to 
Maurice about, here behind the arbor one day? 


A NEW MEMBER. 


165 


I couldn’t help hearing a little. It had some¬ 
thing to do with a forest.” Celia had dropped 
the book in her lap and looked at Rosalind with 
something that was almost eagerness in her face. 

Rosalind thought a moment. “ Why, did you 
hear us? I know now what it was,” and she 
turned the leaves and pointed to the paragraph 
beginning, “If we will, we may travel always in 
the Forest,” then she added shyly, “You ought 
to belong to the Forest because of your name.” 

“ ‘ So losing by the way the sacred gift of 
happiness,’ ” Celia repeated, her eyes on the 
book. “ What do you mean by belonging to 
the Forest?” she asked, looking up. 

Rosalind seldom needed to be urged to talk 
on this subject, and she had a sympathetic lis¬ 
tener as she explained the Forest secret, and told 
how it had helped her in the loneliness of those 
first days in Friendship. 

Celia was lonely and sad. She had held aloof 
so long in her proud reserve that now there 
seemed nowhere to turn for the sympathy she 
longed for, and Rosalind’s little allegory, with 
its simple message of patience and hope, fell 
upon ground well prepared. 


166 MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 

“ Oh, Rosalind,” she cried, “ show me how to 
live in the Forest! ” and with a manner altogether 
out of keeping with the Celia known to most 
persons, she drew the child to her. “I wish 
you would love me, dear,” she said. 

Rosalind’s shyness faded away. She forgot 
about the rose, and Aunt Genevieve’s words. 
Here was a new friend, one who cared about the 
Forest. She responded warmly to Celia’s caress, 
and when a few minutes later the other Arden 
Foresters rushed upon the scene, the two were 
talking together as if they had known each 
other always. 

“ Miss Celia, are you going to join our so¬ 
ciety ? ” asked Belle, the ardent, flying to her 
side and giving her a hug. 

“ Don’t stick yourself on my needle! I 
haven’t been invited yet. Rosalind tells me it 
is a secret society, and of course I am dying to 
know about it.” 

“ Let’s tell her,” said Katherine. 

“ Girls always want to tell everything,” re¬ 
marked Jack, causing Belle to frown upon him 
sternly. 

“The magician has joined,” added Rosalind. 


A NEW MEMBER. 167 

“ Then I don’t see why Miss Celia can’t. Do 
you, Maurice ? ” asked Belle. 

“ Listen, Belle,” said Celia, laughing, and with¬ 
out waiting for Maurice’s reply, “there may be 
some difference of opinion as to whether I 
should be a desirable member or not; suppose 
you go over there under the oak and talk it 
over. Then if you want me I’ll consider the 
question.” 

This seemed a sensible suggestion, and the 
Foresters retired to the shade of the scarlet oak 
to discuss the matter. Jack had meant nothing 
but a fling at the feminine fondness for telling 
things, and was astonished that his remark 
could be supposed to reflect upon Miss Celia; 
and as no one else found any objection to the 
new member, they returned presently to inform 
her that she was by unanimous consent invited 
to become an honorary member of their society. 

“ As honorary members aren’t expected to do 
much, I’ll consider it. Now please tell me. about 
it. What is its name and object ? ” 

Maurice produced the book and read, “ * The 
name of this Society shall be The Arden 
Foresters.’ ” 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


168 

“That sounds like Robin Hood, don’t you 
think?” Belle put in. 

“ ‘ The object,’ ” Maurice continued, “ * shall be 
to remember the Secret of the Forest, to bear 
hard things bravely, to search for the ring, and 
reciprocity.’ ” 

“ What ring ? ” Celia asked, smiling at the 
queer ending to this article. 

“ Don’t you know ? Patricia’s ring. The one 
that is lost,” Rosalind explained, sorting her leaves. 

“ I fear it is a hopeless quest.” 

“ Maurice,” Rosalind exclaimed, “ that is the 
word we wanted, — the ‘ quest ’ of the ring. 
Let’s put it in.” 

“ What does it mean ? ” asked Katherine. 

“A search,” Celia answered. 

“ Then why won’t ‘ search ’ do ? ” 

“ But * quest ’ sounds more like the Forest,” 
Rosalind urged. 

“ More romantic,” added Belle, adjusting her 
comb and tying her ribbon. 

“One word is as good as another if it means 
what you want to say,” insisted Jack. “They 
think they are so smart with their ‘ reciprocity,’ 
and they got it out of a book.” 


A NEW MEMBER. 


169 


Rosalind glanced at him reproachfully. “ We 
looked in the dictionary for the meaning,” she 
said. 

“ I see no objection to getting it out of a 
book. Most constitutions are patterned after 
others, and reciprocity is a good word. Is there 
any more ? ” Miss Celia spread her work on her 
knee and turned to Maurice. 

“Just the watchword ‘The Forest.’” 

“ I like your society very much and want to 
join if, as you suggested, I can be an honorary 
member. I can try to bear hard things bravely, 
and remember the Forest secret, although I 
haven’t any time to give to the quest of the 
ring.” 

“ Then let her write her name under the 
magician’s,” said Rosalind, clapping her hands. 
“ Now we have seven members.” 

Maurice had his fountain-pen in his pocket, 
just as if he had expected a new member this 
morning, and Celia signed her name in the 
book beneath “C. J. Morgan, Magician.” 

“ He wrote that for fun, because Rosalind 
calls him ‘ the magician,’ ” Belle explained. 

“ I haven’t heard that old title for many a 


170 MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 

year,” Celia remarked, as she waited for her 
signature to dry. 

“ Now we have to choose a badge,” said 
Belle. 

Rosalind spread out her collection of leaves. 
“We thought a leaf would be appropriate,” she 
added. There were beech, and maple, and pop¬ 
lar, and oak in several varieties. 

“ I think I should choose this,” and Celia 
pointed to a leaf from the scarlet oak. “ Not 
only because it is beautiful in shape, but because 
the oak tree stands for courage. A ‘heart of 
oak * has become a proverb, you know.” 

Rosalind’s eyes grew bright. “ I didn’t think 
of its having a meaning. I like that.” 

“And in the fall we’ll have scarlet badges 
instead of green ones,” said Jack. 

There could be no better choice than this, they 
all agreed ; and J ack gathered a handful, that they 
might put on their badges at once. 

“ On our way home we must stop and tell the 
magician about it,” Rosalind said, as she pinned 
a leaf on Celia’s dress. 


CHAPTER SIXTEENTH. 


RECIPROCITY. 

“ Take upon command what we have, 

That to your wanting may be ministered.” 

C ELIA FAIR, do you realize what you have 
done ? ” 

It was Celia who asked herself the question. 
She was suffering, as reserved people must, from 
the reaction that follows an unusual outburst of 
feeling. That had been a happy morning in the 
arbor; she had let herself go, had listened to 
her heart and forgotten her pride, and in the 
company of the merry Arden Foresters, the old 
joy of youth had asserted itself. The brightness 
had stayed with her for days; she had dreamed 
she could make a fairy tale of life, spending her 
hours in an enchanted forest, and now had come 
the awakening. 

It seemed destined from the beginning to be a 
day of misfortunes. She woke with a dull, listless 

171 


72 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


feeling, and the first thing to greet her eyes 
when she went downstairs was the woolly head 
of Bob, the grandson of her sole dependence, 
Aunt Sally, waiting on the doorstep to impart 
the cheering information that granny had the 
“ misery ” in her side mighty bad, and couldn’t 
come to-day. 

At another time it might not have mattered so 
much, for the boys were away from home, and 
breakfast for two did not offer any insuperable 
difficulties to Celia, but there were currants and 
raspberries waiting to be made into jelly and 
preserves. To complicate matters, Mrs. Fair had 
one of her severe headaches. 

The fruit would not keep another day, and 
Celia couldn’t leave the house to go down the hill in 
search of help, even if she had known just where 
to seek it. After making her mother as com¬ 
fortable as possible, she began on the currants 
with sombre energy. 

“May I come in, Miss Celia? Will you lend me 
a cup ? ” It was Jack who stood in the door. 

“ Help yourself,” she replied, “ I am too busy to 
stop.” 

“ We want to get some water from the 


RECIPROCITY. 173 

spring,” he explained. “ Aren’t you coming over 
to-day ? ” 

Celia shook her head. 

Jack surveyed the piles of fruit. “ Jiminy! 
have you all this to do ? ” 

‘‘Yes; Aunt Sally is sick this morning, and it 
can’t wait.” 

Jack disappeared, leaving Celia to her gloomy 
thoughts, but ten minutes had not passed before 
he was back again, accompanied by the other 
Arden Foresters. 

“We have come to help,” they announced. 

For a moment Celia was annoyed. She had 
made up her mind to be a martyr and did not 
care to be disturbed. 

“ Indeed, you can’t,” she said. “ I am very 
much obliged, but you would stain yourselves, 
and — ” 

“ Give us some aprons,” interrupted Belle. 
“ Mother lets us help her.” 

Maurice added, “ It is reciprocity, Miss Celia.” 

Celia’s ill temper wavered and went down be¬ 
fore the row of bright faces. “ Well, perhaps 
you may help if you really want to, but it is tire¬ 
some work.” 


174 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


They did not seem to find it so, as they sat 
around the table on the porch, carefully done up 
in checked aprons, three of them at work on the 
raspberries, and two helping Celia with the cur¬ 
rants. 

Each wore a fresh oak leaf, and nothing would 
do but Rosalind must run back to get one for 
Miss Celia; and there must have been magic in 
it, so suddenly did Celia’s courage revive. 

“ I feel better,” she said, stopping to turn the 
leaves of the cook-book. “ Let me see, — * boil 
several hours till the juice is well out of the 
fruit,’ — Sally always lets it drip over night into 
the big stone jar. I shall have these currants 
out of the way by dinner-time. You are really a 
great help. I wish there was something I could 
do for you.” 

“ Tell us a story, Miss Celia,” Belle suggested 
promptly. 

“ I don’t know any.” 

“ Something about when you were a little girl,” 
said Katherine. 

Celia hesitated. “The only story I know is 
about a magician and a tiger. Rosalind’s calling 
Morgan ‘the magician’ reminded me of it.” 


RECIPROCITY. 


7 5 


“ I love magicians and tigers,” Rosalind re¬ 
marked. “ Do you remember the picture I told 
you about, Maurice ? Do tell it to us, Miss Celia.” 

Celia wondered afterward how she could have 
done it, but now she thought of nothing but her 
desire to please the children, so she began: — 

“Once there was a little girl who loved fairy 
tales and believed with all her heart in fairies, 
magicians, and ogres. In the town where she had 
recently come to live she had a playmate, a boy, 
who laughed at her for thinking there were such 
creatures in the world, and the two often argued 
the matter. 

“ One day this little girl was sitting on the 
fence looking up at the sky and wishing some¬ 
thing would happen, when she heard the boy 
calling her. She answered, and he came running 
across the grass and climbed up beside her, and 
with an air of great mystery told her he knew a 
secret. Of course the little girl was anxious to 
hear it, and of course the boy tried to tease her 
by refusing to tell. But by and by he could 
keep it no longer, and in tones of awe he whis¬ 
pered that he knew a magician who lived in 
their very town. 


176 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


“The little girl clapped her hands; for if her 
playmate believed in magicians, he must surely 
come to believe in fairies too. 

“ The boy went on to explain that this magician 
appeared exactly like other men, so that few 
guessed his mysterious power. He lived in a 
house quite like other houses except that its door 
was painted black; but behind this door lay a 
tiger, always ready to spring upon any one who 
tried to enter. On this great tiger in some way 
depended the magician’s power. 

“ There had been a fire in the village recently, 
which, the boy said, had been caused by the 
magician, as well as certain other calamities, 
such as scarlet-fever and measles, and the time 
had come when this must be stopped. The boy 
claimed to have discovered — he did not say how 
— that the magician’s tiger had three white 
whiskers, all the rest being black, and in these 
white whiskers resided all his power. If in any 
way they could be removed, he and his master 
would be harmless forevermore. 

“ But how was this to be done ? the little girl 
wanted to know, feeling deeply impressed mean¬ 
while by the tragedy of the situation. 


RECIPROCITY. 


177 


“ The only way, the boy replied, was to catch 
the tiger while he slept, and then — a snip of 
the scissors, and he could do no more harm. The 
little girl had some round-pointed scissors hang¬ 
ing from a ribbon around her neck, for she was 
fond of cutting things; she took them in her 
hand now and looked at them with a shiver as 
the boy added in a tragic whisper, * We must 
do it! ’ 

“ Although she was very much afraid, she never 
thought of objecting. It was her duty, and she 
had great confidence in her companion. He could 
do many things she couldn’t do, and he was ten 
and she only six; so when he examined the scissors 
and said they would answer, without a word of 
objection she slipped down from the fence and 
trotted beside him. 

“ It seemed quite natural that the way should be 
over fences and through back yards instead of 
along the street. They climbed rails and squeezed 
through hedges until the little girl was breath¬ 
less and had not the least idea where she was, 
when she found herself in a narrow garden-path, 
on either side of which grew hollyhocks and 
sunflowers. 


N 


i/8 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


“ ‘ There is the door,’ the boy whispered; and 
— yes — at the end of the path she saw the black 
door. 

“ ‘ This is the hour when he sleeps,’ the boy said, 
in thrilling tones, looking at an imaginary watch. 
‘We have timed it well. I will open the door 
softly, and you have your scissors ready; I will 
hold him while you cut off the whiskers.’ The 
little girl’s heart almost stopped beating, but she 
had no thought of running away. 

“They reached the door; the boy had his hand on 
the knob. He was opening it very gently — when 
something happened! He stumbled, or his hand 
slipped. It flew open and there before them stood 
the magician, brandishing a glittering sword, and 
beside him were the gleaming eyes of a tiger. 

“ With a cry of terror the little girl fell all in a 
heap, grasping her scissors, shutting her eyes tight 
till all should be over. Then some one picked 
her up and asked if she was hurt, and slowly gain¬ 
ing courage she opened her eyes and looked into 
the kind face of Morgan, the cabinet-maker. At 
his side was Tiger, the great striped cat, and on 
the work-bench lay his shining saw. The boy 
stood by, laughing.” 


RECIPROCITY. 179 

“ I thought he must be fooling her,” remarked 
Katherine, in a tone of relief. 

“You don’t mean it!” said Maurice, with fine 
sarcasm. 

“ But finish, Miss Celia,” begged Rosalind. 
“What did the little girl think?” 

“ I believe for a long time she was greatly 
puzzled. There seemed to have been magic 
somewhere. She examined Tiger’s whiskers 
and found them all black, and this made 
her think it possible that some one else had 
cut out the white ones, and thus turned him 
into a harmless cat. She felt a little uneasy at 
times, for fear the cabinet-maker would turn 
again into the wicked magician, but it never 
happened.” 

“ And did she go on believing in fairies ? ” Rosa¬ 
lind asked. 

“ Oh, yes, for a while. I am not sure she doesn’t 
yet.” 

“Cousin Louis says that is one of the advan¬ 
tages of the ‘ Forest of Arden,’ you can believe 
in all those delightful things.” 

“ Were there fairies there ? ” asked Belle. “ I 
don’t remember any.” 


i8o 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


“ There would have been if occasion had called 
for them,” Celia answered. 

“ But you don’t want to believe things if they 
aren’t true, do you ? ” Katherine looked puzzled. 
“ I wish there were fairies now, but I know there 
aren’t.” 

“You can’t prove there aren’t,” asserted Jack, 
mischievously. 

“Why, Jack, you know there aren’t any fairies 
really.” 

“I said you couldn’t prove it.” 

“ How can you say they do not exist unless you 
have seen one not existing? Isn’t that the argu¬ 
ment in ‘ Water Babies ’ ? ” laughed Celia, as she 
carried the currants into the kitchen. “ It is the 
difference between fact and fancy, Katherine,” 
she said, coming back. 

“ I love to pretend things,” said Rosalind. 

“ So do I,” echoed Belle. 

“Fancy does more than that, it really makes 
things beautiful. For instance, it makes the 
difference between a plain, straight letter such 
as you see in the newspaper and such a letter 
as I was embroidering yesterday. Some one’s 
fancy saw the plain S ornamented with curving 


RECIPROCITY. 


18 


lines and sprays of flowers, and so it came to be 
made so.” 

“ That makes me think of those beautiful 
books the monks used to make,” said Maurice. 

“ The illuminated manuscripts, you mean ? 
That word expresses what fancy does for us,— 
it illuminates the plain facts, and fills them with 
beauty.” 

“ Oh, Miss Celia, that is a lovely idea,” cried 
Rosalind. “ I must remember it to tell Cousin 
Louis.” 

“ I fear he wouldn’t find it very new,” Celia 
answered, smiling. 

By noon the fruit was all picked over, and as 
Celia stood at the gate watching her helpers out 
of sight, old Sally came laboring up the walk. 

“ Law, honey, look like I couldn’t rest from 
studyin’ how you was gwine to git them berries 
done, an’ I ’lowed, misery or no misery, I was 
cornin’ to help you,” she announced. 


CHAPTER SEVENTEENTH. 


A NEW COMRADE. 

“ I know you are a gentleman of good conceit.” 

R OSALIND and Maurice sat on the garden 
bench discussing “The Young Marooners,” 
one of the story books found in the garret. 

“ I shouldn’t like to be carried off by a big 
fish as they were, but I do think some sort of 
an adventure would be interesting. Don’t you ? ” 
asked Rosalind. 

“We’ll have to do something,” Maurice agreed. 
“ Don’t you wish we could get inside the Gilpin 
house ? Mr. Wells, the teller in our bank, sleeps 
there. I wish he would drop the key.” 

“ Grandmamma says it will be open for people 
to go through before the sale, but then it will 
be too late to look for the ring. Belle is so 
good at thinking of things, I wish she would 
find a way for us to get in,” Rosalind added. 

A bell was heard ringing on the other side 
182 


A NEW COMRADE. 183 

of the hedge, and Maurice rose. “ Dinner is 
ready,” he said. 

Rosalind walked to the gate with him. “ Uncle 
Allan is coming to-morrow,” she remarked, “and 
I just wonder what he is like.” 

Turning toward the house again, she became 
aware of a stranger standing beside the griffins. 
He was not waiting to get in, for the door was 
open behind him, and furthermore he had the 
air of being at home. Something in his height 
and the breadth of his shoulders suggested her 
father, and as she drew nearer a certain resem¬ 
blance to Aunt Genevieve developed. 

He watched her approach with a look of puzzled 
interest. “ Surely, this isn’t Rosalind,” he said. 

Rosalind paused on the bottom step. “Why, 
yes, it is. Are you Uncle Allan?” 

“A great tall girl like you my niece? Pat’s 
daughter ? Impossible ! ” There was a twinkle 
in his eye. Clearly, Uncle Allan was a tease. 

“ I suppose I shall have to be identified,” said 
Rosalind, merrily. 

“ I begin to see a look of Pat about you.” He 
came down the steps now and took her hand. 
“ Let’s sit here and get acquainted,” he said, 


184 MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 

leading the way to the bench under the birch 
tree. 

Two pairs of eyes, the brown and the gray, 
looked into each other steadily and soberly for 
a few seconds, then a dimple began to make 
itself visible in Rosalind’s cheek, whereat the 
brown eyes twinkled again. “Well, what do 
you think of me ? ” they asked. 

“You aren’t much like Great-uncle Allan,” 
said Rosalind, laughing. 

“ Heavens ! was that your idea of me ? And 
I expected you to be a child of tender age, 
although I should have known better. It is 
nearly fourteen years since Pat went away.” 

“Uncle Allan, did you know my mother?” It 
was the first time Rosalind had mentioned her 
mother since she had been in Friendship. She 
could not have explained her silence any more 
than she could this sudden question. 

“ I did not know her, Rosalind. I wish I might 
have. I saw her once, and I have never for¬ 
gotten her face.” 

“I can remember her just a little, but father 
and Cousin Louis have told me about her, and I 
have her picture.” 


A NEW COMRADE. 


185 


“I think,” said Uncle Allan, confidently, “that 
we are going to be friends. Tell me how you 
like Friendship.” 

“ I like it now. I was dreadfully lonely at 
first, till things began to happen. Then there 
was Cousin Betty’s tea party, where I met Belle 
and Jack and the rest, and now — oh, I like it very 
much! It is a funny place. Aunt Genevieve 
says you don’t like it any better than she does.” 
Rosalind’s tone was questioning. 

“ I believe it does seem rather a stupid old 
town,” he acknowledged. “What do you find 
interesting about it ? ” 

“ There is the magician and his shop; and the 
out of doors is so beautiful — almost like the coun¬ 
try ; and the houses are different from those in 
the city; and there is the will, and the lost ring.” 
Rosalind suddenly remembered her uncle’s con¬ 
nection with the ring. 

He did not seem to understand, for he asked, 
“ What ring ? ” then added, “ Oh, you mean the 
Gilpin will. Who has told you about that?” 

“Cousin Betty; and she told us the story of 
Patricia’s ring. Uncle Allan, don’t you wish we 
could find it?” 


186 MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 

Allan Whittredge smiled at the eager face. “ I 
can’t say I care much about it,” he replied; then 
seeing her disappointment, he added, “ It was a 
handsome old ring. Should you like to have it ? ” 

“I’d like to see it; but of course it wasn’t 
meant for me. Cousin Betty said — ” Rosa¬ 
lind paused, for the expression on her uncle’s 
face was more than ever like Aunt Genevieve, 
and he exclaimed impatiently, “ Stuff! ” 

She felt rather hurt. She had expected him 
to be as interested in the ring as she was. What 
did he mean by “ stuff ” ? And why didn’t he like 
Friendship? Rosalind fell to pondering all this, 
sitting in the corner of the bench, looking down 
at her hands, crossed in her lap. 

After some minutes’ silence she felt her chin 
lifted until her eyes met the gaze of the mer¬ 
riest brown ones, from which all trace of disdain 
or impatience was gone. 

“ What are you thinking about so soberly ? 
Are you disappointed in me, after all?” 

Rosalind laughed. “ I am just sorry you don’t 
like Friendship.” 

“Perhaps it is because I have been away so 
long. I used to like it when I was a boy.” 


A NEW COMRADE. 


87 


“ Can’t you turn into a boy again ? ” 

“ Perhaps I might, if you will show me how.” 

Rosalind clapped her hands. “ I don’t think 
I am a bit disappointed in you, and I am almost 
sure you will like the Forest.” 

“What forest?” 

“I’ll show you the book and tell you about it 
sometime; and then maybe you will join our 
society.” 

“ This sounds interesting; I believe I shall like 
Friendship.” 

Rosalind surveyed him thoughtfully. “ I think 
I’ll begin by taking you to see the magician,” 
she said. 

By what witchery did she divine that the 
shortest path to his boyhood was by way of the 
magician’s ? 

“ The magician ? Oh, that is Morgan, I sup¬ 
pose.” Allan’s eyes rested absently on the droop¬ 
ing hydrangea a few feet away. 

Presently a soft hand stole beneath his chin, 
and Rosalind demanded merrily, as she tried to 
turn his face to hers, “What are you thinking 
about ? Are you disappointed in me ? ” 

“ Not terribly,” her uncle replied, and seizing 


188 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


the hand he drew her to him and gave her the 
kiss of friendship and good-fellowship. 

Rosalind was fastidious about kisses. She 
reserved them for those she loved, and received 
them shrinkingly from those she did not care 
for; but in this short interview she had found 
a friend, and she returned the caress with an 
ardor of affection pretty to see. 

Martin, announcing lunch, interrupted their talk, 
and, hand in hand, Rosalind and her new com¬ 
rade walked to the house. In the exuberance 
of her content, she patted one of the griffins as 
she passed. Her uncle observed it. 

“ Have you ever noticed the resemblance be¬ 
tween Uncle Allan Barnwell and the griffins?” 
he asked. 

The idea amused Rosalind greatly, and as 
she took her seat at the table, the sight of the 
haughtily poised head and eagle eyes of the 
portrait made her laugh. Things were indeed 
taking a turn when that stern face caused 
amusement. 

With Uncle Allan at the foot of the table, 
luncheon was transformed into a festive occa¬ 
sion. Masculine tones were almost startling 


A NEW COMRADE. 


189 


from their novelty; Rosalind found herself for¬ 
getting to eat. Grandmamma was wonderfully 
bright, and Aunt Genevieve showed a languid 
animation most unusual. 

“ It was like you, Allan, after putting us off 
so long, to end by surprising us,” his sister said. 

“ I trust you intend to stay for a while,” his 
mother added, almost wistfully. 

Genevieve laughed half scornfully, as if she 
considered this a forlorn hope. 

Allan looked at her a moment before he re¬ 
plied, “ I don’t know ; I shall probably be here 
some time.” He had more than half promised 
his friend Blanchard to join him in a trip over 
the Canadian Pacific in August. At present he 
felt inclined to give it up and remain in Friend¬ 
ship. He would not commit himself. 

He thought it over lazily after lunch, resting 
in the sleepy-hollow chair by the east window 
in the room that had been his ever since he 
graduated from the nursery. All about him were 
devices for comfort and adornment that spoke of 
his mother’s hand. She knew the sort of thing 
he liked, — his handsome, unhappy mother. It 
was a shame to leave her so much alone; yet 


190 MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 

she never complained, but seemed always self- 
sufficient and independent. 

And then Allan began to reflect on the singu¬ 
lar fact that he was seldom quite at ease with 
his mother, although he admired her, and at one 
time had been very much under her influence. 
If he had ceased to care for his home, it was 
her fault for sending him away for so long. 
“ Poor mother! ” he thought. “ We have all disap¬ 
pointed her; but she was never quite fair to any 
of us. She wanted us to go her way, and, being 
her children, we preferred our own.” 

The sound of Rosalind’s voice floated in at 
the window. He looked out. She was crossing 
the lawn, after an interview with Katherine 
through the hedge. 

“When are we to begin?” he called. 

“Whenever you like,” she answered. 

He went down and joined her in the garden, 
thinking what a difference she made in the 
place. He had not supposed a girl of twelve 
could be so charming; but then, she was his 
brother’s daughter, with something of her father 
about her, and he had felt a little boy’s admira¬ 
tion for this older brother. 


A NEW COMRADE. 


191 

Rosalind told him it was almost like having father 
or Cousin Louis to talk to; and as they wandered 
about the garden Allan found himself feeling 
flattered at her evident pleasure in his society. 

She brought out her treasured book to show 
him, and explained about the Forest; and Allan 
listened absently, noting the soft curve of her 
cheek and the length of the dark lashes, his 
memory going back to that one occasion when 
he had seen the gentle and lovely girl who was 
afterward his brother’s wife. 

“And now we must go to the magician’s,” 
said Rosalind. 

Not many of the inhabitants of Friendship 
were abroad in the middle of a summer after¬ 
noon, and they had the street almost to them¬ 
selves when they set out. The quiet, the bowed 
shutters, the deserted porches, suggested a uni¬ 
versal nap. Allan looked up at the tall maples, 
whose branches met across the road just as they 
had done in his childhood. Truly, there was a 
charm about the old town, with its homelike 
dwellings and generous gardens, he acknowl¬ 
edged to himself. “ I believe we are the only 
people awake,” he remarked. 


192 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


“The magician will be awake,” Rosalind re¬ 
plied; and so he was, rubbing down the clock 
case to-day, but by no means too much occupied 
for company, and he welcomed his visitors cor¬ 
dially, saying Allan was one of his boys. 

Rosalind was amazed at the ease and rapidity with 
which her uncle talked with the cabinet-maker. 

“Have you come home to stay this time, Mr. 
Allan ? ” Morgan asked. 

Allan laughed, and said he did not know about 
that. 

“ Two—four—eight years—’’the magician told 
them off on his fingers, shaking his head. “ Too 
long. Take root somewhere, Mr. Allan; too much 
travel spoils you. Your father loved Friendship.” 

“Yes,” said Allan, gravely. 

“You make him join the society,” Morgan 
said, turning to Rosalind. 

“ He means our secret society,” she explained. 
“He belongs, and he has our motto on the 
wall,” and she drew her uncle to the door of 
the back room and pointed it out. 

“Oh, I remember Morgan’s motto, ‘Good in 
everything.’ Dees one have to subscribe to that 
in order to join this society ? ” 







































N 






* 














i 















t 






























il 


THEY CROSSED OVER TO SPEAK TO HER.” 



A NEW COMRADE. 


193 


“That is one thing.” 

“ If there are many such requirements, I fear 
I shall prove not eligible.” 

“ Does that mean you can’t join ? ” Rosalind 
asked, looking disappointed. 

“Well, I’ll consider it. I’ll try to be broad¬ 
minded and practise believing impossible things, 
like Alice.” 

“ 4 Six impossible things before breakfast,’ ” 
quoted Rosalind. “ I am so glad you know 
Alice; but it was the White Queen, wasn’t it ? ” 

“ I shouldn’t wonder if it was,” Allan answered, 
laughing. 

They went out to the little garden to see the 
sweet peas and nasturtiums, and the magician in¬ 
sisted upon gathering some. While they waited 
Rosalind told her uncle about the time she took 
tea with him. 

When at last they left the shop, Miss Betty 
was standing in her door, and they crossed over 
to speak to her. 

“Well, Allan, I am glad to see you at last,” 
she said, coming down the walk to meet them. 

“ You do not appear to have pined away in 
my absence,” he replied, shaking hands. 


o 


194 MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 

Miss Betty shrugged her shoulders. “ I was 
never much on pining, but my curiosity has been 
sadly strained.” 

“What about?” 

“You know very well. That ring.” 

“Now, if that isn’t like Friendship,” said Allan, 
laughing, as he followed her to the porch and 
made himself comfortable in one of the big rock¬ 
ing chairs. Rosalind sat on the step arranging 
her flowers and listening. 

“ I would have you know I have something 
else to think about besides foolish and unreason¬ 
able wills and lost jewels,” Allan continued. “ I 
regret I cannot relieve the strain, but so far as 
I know, the ring has not been heard of and is 
not likely to be.” 

“ But if it should be found ? ” said Miss Betty. 
“ Stranger things have happened.” 

“Yes,” said Allan. 

“Then the question is, do you know what you 
are going to do with it?” 

“That is a question with which I shall not 
trouble myself until it is found. I am a lazy 
person, as you know, Cousin Betty.” 

“ I know nothing of the sort, Allan. Now, 


A NEW COMRADE. 


195 


there is one thing you might tell me. Do you 
know what Cousin Thomas meant, or was it one 
of his jokes? Yes or no.” 

“No,” answered Allan, promptly. 

Miss Betty looked puzzled; then she laughed. 
“ It is like playing tit, tat, toe, to talk to you,” 
she exclaimed. “ I might have known you’d get 
ahead of me.” 

“ I have answered your question as you desired; 
now let’s change the subject,” he suggested 
gravely. 

Rosalind gave a gentle little chuckle. Miss 
Betty looked at her. “What do you think of 
your uncle, Rosalind ? ” she asked. 

“You certainly have the gift for asking pointed 
questions,” Allan remarked, before Rosalind could 
speak. “ I can tell you what she expected. She 
had an idea that I resembled Uncle Allan Barn¬ 
well.” 

“Gracious! You must be relieved. I could 
have told you better than that.” 

“ I didn’t really think it; I only wondered,” 
said Rosalind. 

Miss Betty laughed in a reminiscent sort of 
way. “ Do you remember him, Allan ? But no, 


196 MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 

I fancy you were too little. He used to visit at 
our house when I was a child, and I was never 
so afraid of any one. I suppose you have heard 
the story of his wedding?” 

“I have a dim recollection of the story. Tell 
it to Rosalind.” 

“ Well,” she began, “ Uncle Allan was a minis¬ 
ter, you know. A Presbyterian of the sternest 
stuff, rich in eloquence and power of argument, 
but poor in this world’s goods. However, he 
judiciously fell in love with Matilda Greene, the 
only daughter of a wealthy Baltimore merchant. 
As was natural, Matilda chose for her wedding- 
gown a gorgeous robe of white satin, and all the 
preparations for the event were on a lavish scale. 
When the day came and the guests had as¬ 
sembled, and the bride in her beautiful gown 
and lace veil appeared before the eyes of the 
bridegroom, Uncle Allan created a sensation by 
sternly declaring that such a dress was inappro¬ 
priate for the bride of a humble minister of the 
Gospel. 

“ And the meek Matilda, instead of telling him 
he could marry her as she was or not at all, 
took off her satin, put on a simple muslin, and 


A NEW COMRADE. 


19 ; 


the ceremony was performed. Uncle Allan 
always referred to his wife-as ‘ My Matilda ’; and 
if the truth were known, I fancy she couldn’t 
call her soul her own.” 

“ I remember the story,” said Allan, laughing. 
“We come of a stubborn family. What would 
have happened if Matilda had asserted herself ? ” 

“ He had her at a disadvantage, — the guests 
waiting, — but she missed the chance of a life¬ 
time/’ said Miss Betty. 

“ Was Matilda fond of him ? ” asked Rosalind. 

“ Let us hope so; at any rate she always spoke 
of him as ‘ My Allan.’ ” 


CHAPTER EIGHTEENTH. 


AN IMPRISONED MAIDEN. 

u The house doth keep itself, 

There’s none within.” 

I T was plain to Rosalind that for some reason 
her uncle did not wish to discuss the ring; 
nor did he seem to care whether or not it was 
found. It was also plain that he did not agree 
with his mother and sister on the question of the 
will. 

On one occasion when Genevieve made some 
scornful reference to the probable motives of 
those who upheld the later one, Allan exclaimed 
in a tone of irritation, “ It is beyond my compre¬ 
hension how you can have so much feeling in the 
matter. I have seen no reason to suppose the 
old man incapable of making a will. The testi¬ 
mony seemed to point the other way; and as 
nobody except the hospital had anything to gain 
by this last will, it strikes me as worse than ab- 
198 


AN IMPRISONED MAIDEN. 


199 


surd to impute motives of jealousy to people who 
were only giving their honest opinion.” 

“It must be because we are not blest with 
your truly amiable disposition,” Genevieve ob¬ 
served languidly. 

A smile flitted across Rosalind’s face; her 
uncle had spoken with a good deal of heat. 
Allan himself laughed. His fits of irritation 
usually ended in this way. 

“ Well, it is all over now, and we may as well 
make the best of it. You shall have Patricia’s 
miniature if I can get it for you.” 

“ Thank you,” said Genevieve, really gratified. 
“ I fear you do not know what you are promis¬ 
ing.” 

Rosalind wondered how her uncle felt in re¬ 
gard to the Fairs, and she once or twice men¬ 
tioned Celia, watching him furtively meanwhile. 
There was, however, no shadow of a change in 
his expression, and he made no comment. 

A vast difference was made in the house by 
Allan’s return. He stood in no awe of Miss 
Herbert, had no qualms about disturbing the 
drawing-room blinds or leaving the front door 
open from morning till night, —a Friendship cus- 


200 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


tom which did not recommend itself to the 
housekeeper. A high cart and a swift-footed 
mare made their appearance, and Rosalind was 
often her uncle’s companion on his visits to the 
farms belonging to the estate. 

Allan was continually expecting his interest 
in Friendship to languish, but it did not, and after 
a few weeks he gave up all thought of the western 
trip. 

The middle of July saw Genevieve on her way 
to the North, and a little later Miss Herbert went 
home on a holiday. After their departure peace 
settled down upon the house behind the griffins. 

The Arden Foresters found the summer days 
none too long. They still met Celia in the arbor 
now and then; and it was her stories of the Gil¬ 
pin house, of the ring and the spinet, together 
with the constant sight of the closed shutters and 
doors, that led to an adventure one warm August 
day. 

“ Important meeting at the oak tree this after¬ 
noon, — a discovery ! ” was the startling announce¬ 
ment Rosalind found within the grass-tied missive 
on the cedar when she returned from a drive 
with her uncle one morning. She could hardly 


AN IMPRISONED MAIDEN. 


201 


eat her luncheon for eagerness to know what the 
discovery might be, and the sound of Maurice’s 
low whistle further upset her. 

Mrs. Whittredge was rigid where table man¬ 
ners were concerned. Rosalind might not be 
excused until every one had finished; and to-day 
Uncle Allan dallied over his dessert, discussing 
business and the new mills with his mother, while 
Rosalind’s impatience grew. 

She looked up despairingly at the stern coun¬ 
tenance of Great-uncle Allan, and then at the 
placid smile of his Matilda, which seemed a re¬ 
buke to her restlessness. “ I wonder what you 
did with your satin dress ? ” she suddenly re¬ 
marked aloud. 

Grandmamma turned toward her in surprise, 
and Allan, deep in a description of the manufac¬ 
ture of a new kind of paper, looked at her 
blankly. 

“ Do you think it is polite to interrupt ? ” asked 
Mrs. Whittredge. 

“I beg your pardon, Uncle Allan, I was just 
thinking. I did not mean to say it out loud,” 
Rosalind explained, in great contrition. 

“ Evidently you were not interested in my 


202 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


learned discourse,” he said, with a terrible frown, 
which was not at all alarming. 

The diversion, however, caused him to remem¬ 
ber his pudding, and in a few minutes Rosalind 
was free to join Maurice and Katherine at the 
gate. 

Belle, who had called the meeting, was waiting 
for them at the top of the hill. 

“ I thought you were never coming,” she cried; 
“ we have made such a discovery ! ” And as they 
walked toward the house she explained that her 
mother had sent her that morning with a mes¬ 
sage to Miss Celia, and not finding her at home, 
she and Jack, who was with her, went over to 
the Gilpin place to wait. As they wandered 
about the grounds, something put it into Jack’s 
head to try one of the cobwebby cellar win¬ 
dows, and lo! it opened. Poking their heads 
in, they saw it was over a stairway, which could 
be easily reached by walking a few feet on a 
ledge of stone. Delighted, with the discovery, 
they scrambled in, and making their way up the 
steps found the door at the top unbolted. 

“Jack opened it and peeped into the hall, 
and then we were as scared as anything, and 


AN IMPRISONED MAIDEN. 203 

ran, and oh ! we had such a time getting out. 
Now, what do you think of it ? We can look 
for the ring really! ” Belle paused, out of 
breath. 

“What fun!” cried Rosalind 

“Just what we have been wishing for,” added 
Maurice. “ I have been trying to think how 
we could get in.” 

Katherine was the only one who was not en¬ 
thusiastic over the adventure. She hung back 
a little and wanted to know what Belle had 
been afraid of. 

“ Oh, I don’t know. It was so dark, and mys¬ 
terious, and creepy; but it was such fun! ” 

“We shan’t mind if we are all together,” said 
Rosalind, reassuringly. “We’ll pretend we are 
storming a castle to rescue somebody.” 

If it occurred to any of them that it might 
not be exactly right to break into a closed 
house in this fashion, the idea was quickly dis¬ 
missed. 

Jack was watching for them, sprawled at his 
ease on the grass by the window. He was 
rather proud of having been the discoverer of it. 

In the heart of the country it could hardly 


204 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


have been quieter than it was in the Gilpin 
grounds that afternoon. Now and then some 
vehicle could be heard going up or down the 
hill, or the whistle of a canal-boat broke in 
upon the drowsy droning hum that was part 
of the summer stillness. There was no one to 
interfere. Even if Celia brought her work to 
the arbor, it was on the other side of the house, 
out of sight and hearing. 

The first obstacle the expedition encountered 
was the impossibility of Maurice’s getting through 
to the stairway with his crutch. It was plain 
that it was out of the question, yet it was ter¬ 
ribly hard to give up. There was a spice of 
daring in the adventure that appealed to him. 
For a moment he had a most uncomfortable 
sensation in his throat; and the old pettishness 
returned as he thundered at Katherine, in re¬ 
sponse to her reiterated, “You mustn’t do it, 
Maurice,” “I wish you’d hush. I know what 
I can do ! ” 

“We are dreadfully sorry, Maurice, but you 
can keep watch and give the alarm if any one 
comes,” said Belle. 

Rosalind’s oak leaf, as she stood before him, 


AN IMPRISONED MAIDEN. 


205 


recalled him, and suggested that here was a 
hard thing to be bravely borne. 

“ Go on,” he said; “ I’ll wait for you here. 
I don’t mind.” His tone was almost cheerful. 
His ill temper came near getting the better of 
him however, when Katherine insisted upon stay¬ 
ing too. Katherine couldn’t understand that 
people sometimes did not want to be pitied; 
and she was not very anxious, if the truth were 
known, to join the exploring party. 

There was no way of escape for her. The 
others were too urgent, and Maurice did not 
want her. 

“ There is an imprisoned maiden in the tower, 
and we are going to rescue her.” As she spoke 
Rosalind pointed to the garret window. 

“ What fun! Come on,” cried Belle. 

Jack had already wriggled in. 

“ It is rather dusty, isn’t it ? ” Rosalind 
peeped in at the cobwebs doubtfully, but the 
thought of the imprisoned maiden overcame her 
dislike to dust. “ Her name is Patricia,” she 
paused on the sill to say. 

“ And we are going to release her and re¬ 
store her ring, which a wicked magician has 


206 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


turned into lead,” added Belle, with sudden in¬ 
spiration. 

“Why, Belle, I never thought of that. Per¬ 
haps it is the reason nobody can find it,” laughed 
Rosalind, taking one step on the ledge and 
giving a little shriek of dismay. 

“You won’t fall. Give me your hand,” com¬ 
manded Jack, with masculine confidence. 

The damp gloom of the cellar was rather 
frightful after the bright sunshine outside. No 
wonder Katherine crowded close to Belle and 
their voices sank to awed whispers. It was a 
relief to step out into the hall above, where the 
fanlight over the door made it seem less grew- 
some. The dust lay thick on the Chippendale 
table and chairs, and from its corner the tall 
clock looked down on them solemn and voiceless. 
There was no denying that it was scary, as 
Belle expressed it. What light there was seemed 
unreal, and the closed rooms when they peeped 
in were cheerless and ghostly. 

They stole about on tiptoe, keeping close to¬ 
gether and talking in low tones. The library, 
where old Mr. Gilpin had been found unconscious 
and where the ring had last been seen, was the 


AN IMPRISONED MAIDEN. 207 

most ghostly ©f all. Belle paused on the 
threshold. 

“ Let’s go upstairs,” she suggested. As she 
spoke she saw on the floor at her feet a ring of 
some dull metal, such as is used on light curtain- 
rods, but under the circumstances there was some¬ 
thing a little startling in its being there. 

Jack seized it. “ Here is Patricia’s ring ! ” he 
cried. 

“Oh, Jack, hush!” whispered Belle, as his 
voice woke a hundred lonely echoes. 

“I’ll tell you; let’s take it to the magician — 
our magician — and ask him to break the spell,” 
said Rosalind. 

“ Oh, I wish you wouldn’t talk so,” entreated 
Katherine. “It makes me feel as if it were 
true.” 

It was plain that nobody wished to be last on 
the way upstairs, nor was the post of leader 
very ardently desired, so they settled it by crowd¬ 
ing up four abreast. In the rooms above they 
breathed more freely, and grew bolder as they 
wandered about, recognizing things Celia had 
described. 

“ Do come here,” called Belle, from a small 


208 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


room, hardly more than a closet, which opened 
from one of the bed chambers, “and see this 
funny picture.” 

There was one window in this room, and the 
outside shutters had round openings near the top 
through which the light came. The others 

looked at the print, and then Rosalind returned 

■ 

to a work-table that pleased her fancy, Katherine 
following her. As Belle lingered, Jack, in a 
spirit of mischief, suddenly pulled the door to. 

“Jack! Jack! please let me out,” she cried. 

“Why don’t you come out, goosie?” 

“You have locked the door. Please, Jack!” 

“ It isn’t locked,” Jack insisted, but when he 
tried to open it he found the knob immovable. 

“ Maybe it is a dead latch,” suggested Rosalind. 
“He is trying, Belle, really.” 

“Are you sure you can’t open it from the 
inside?” Jack asked anxiously. 

“Yes. I can turn the key both ways, but 
something holds the knob.” Belle’s voice was 
tremulous. 

“ I am dreadfully sorry. What shall we do ? ” 
asked Jack, meekly, turning to Rosalind, after 
their efforts had proved fruitless. 


AN IMPRISONED MAIDEN. 209 

“ Couldn’t we open a window and call to Mau¬ 
rice ? He would go for some one.” 

Jack acted upon this and opened a shutter of 
the hall window, but when he looked out no Mau¬ 
rice was to be seen, nor was there any response 
to his whistle. 

“Til have to go myself,” he said, “unless 
you’d rather go.” 

“ No, Katherine and I will stay with Belle 
while you go,” Rosalind answered, adding, “Jack, 
I think Morgan is working at the Fairs’. He 
could get the door open, I am sure.” 

“All right,” said Jack, but as he turned to go 
Katherine began to cry. “ I am afraid to stay 
here,” she sobbed, quite beside herself with 
terror. 

“ Oh! what are you going to do ? ” came in a 
wail from the other side of the door. 

Rosalind and Jack looked at each other. 
“Take her with you; I don’t mind — much,” 
she said. 

Jack was disposed to argue with Katherine. 
“There is nothing to be afraid of. You ought 
to stay with Rosalind,” he urged, but Kath¬ 
erine was beyond reasoning with her fears. 


210 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


“Never mind, if you hurry it won’t be long. 
Belle and I can talk through the keyhole.” 

Very reluctantly Jack left her, accompanied by 
the tearful Katherine. 

“ Belle, you aren’t afraid ? ” asked Rosalind, 
softly, as the sound of retreating steps grew 
faint. 

“ Not v-ery,” whispered Belle. “ But you 
don’t know how queer those holes in the shutters 
look — like big round eyes staring at me. I have 
tried to open them but I can’t.” 

“ Belle, it is funny, isn’t it, that there is an im¬ 
prisoned maiden after all ? ” 

“ Oh, Rosalind, I know how it feels now. It is 
awful! ” 

“I think I know a little about it too,” said 
Rosalind, sure that it was almost as bad to have 
that lonely, echoing house behind her as to be 
locked in. “ Did you remember your oak leaf ? ” 
she asked. 

“Yes, and I am not going to cry. Rosalind, 
we might have let Maurice in at the door. 
Wasn’t it stupid of us?” 

“ Why, Belle! of course we might.” 

Katherine and Jack meanwhile had made their 


AN IMPRISONED MAIDEN. 


211 


way out, the latter requiring a good deal of help, 
for getting in was easier than getting out. Jack 
was very indignant with her for not staying with 
Rosalind, and treated her with a cold disdain 
most trying. 

As soon as she was in the open air, Kath¬ 
erine bitterly repented of her cowardice. She 
followed Jack meekly as he strode across the 
grass toward the Fairs’, utterly ignoring her. 

A sound of voices came from the summer¬ 
house, and Jack looked in to discover Maurice 
talking to Miss Celia. He briefly explained the 
trouble, adding, “ If Morgan is at your house, 
Miss Celia, I’ll go for him.” 

“I think you will find him. But what a thing 
for you children to do ! ” Celia exclaimed. “ Who 
stayed with Belle ? ” 

“ Rosalind. Katherine was afraid.” 

Katherine, who lingered outside, shrunk back 
as he said this. Her tears began afresh. They 
all thought her a coward. She didn’t want Miss 
Celia or Maurice to see her. She turned and 
ran away. 


CHAPTER NINETEENTH. 


OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 


“ And there begins my sadness.” 


LLAN WHITTREDGE, strolling up the 



jL Jl. hill toward the Gilpin place late in the 
afternoon, became aware of a dejected figure 
approaching, which presently resolved itself into 
Katherine Roberts, who paused every few min¬ 
utes to press her handkerchief to her eyes. 

“Why, Katherine, what is the trouble?” he 
asked, when he reached her side. 

She stood still, not answering, and with her 
eyes covered. No one was in sight up or down 
the street. Allan drew her toward a convenient 
carriage block and, sitting beside her, asked his 
question again. His manner was winning, and 
Katherine, in great need of sympathy, sobbed, 
“They won’t like me any more.” 


“Who won’t?” 


OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 


213 


“Jack or Rosalind, or any of them,” came in 
quivering tones. 

“ Why, what have you done that is so terrible? 
I thought quarrels were unknown in the Forest.” 

Katherine shook her head. “ It wasn’t a quar¬ 
rel. I was afraid because it was dark, — and 
Jack said I was a coward. He told Maurice 
and Miss Celia so.” The confession ended in 
more tears. 

Patiently Allan questioned and listened until 
he had a fairly clear idea of the situation. Then 
he spoke with cheerfulness. 

“ You all ought to be dealt with for getting 
into such mischief,” he said. “ And now don’t 
cry any more. Many a soldier has run away 
from his first battle-field. If I were you, I’d 
own up I had been a coward and say I was 
sorry. Do you want to come back with me, and 
see the end of this adventure ? ” 

Greatly comforted, Katherine dried her eyes 
and decided to go with Mr. Whittredge. Jack 
might not be so hard on her when he saw her 
under such protection. 

By this time Jack had found Morgan and 
brought him to the Gilpin house, where Celia 


214 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


and Maurice were waiting; and at Celia’s sug¬ 
gestion he went in and opened the side door, 
thus making entrance easy for the others. 

“ How silly not to have thought of letting 
Maurice in this way before,” he exclaimed. 

The old house, a moment before so ghostly, now 
rang with the sound of voices as Rosalind, leaning 
over the stair rail, joyfully welcomed the rescuers. 

The magician had some tools with him, but 
he seemed puzzled at first as to what the trouble 
could be, when Celia said, “ I know what the 
matter is. Belle, isn’t there a little catch at 
the side of the lock that moves up and down ? 
Try.” 

“Yes,” answered Belle, after a moment’s in¬ 
vestigation. 

“Then push it up,” said Celia, but before 
the words were out of her mouth Belle had the 
door open and was being as warmly welcomed 
by Rosalind as if they had been separated for 
years instead of minutes. 

Belle was really pale from the trying experi¬ 
ence, and had to wink rapidly to keep the tears 
of relief out of her eyes, while Celia explained 
the accident. 


OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 


215 


“You see, when Jack banged the door the 
catch fell and kept the knob from turning. We 
have one that has given us a good deal of 
trouble.” Then she put her arm around Belle 
and reminded her that the way of transgressors 
is hard. 

“ But I wasn’t doing anything wrong,” replied 
Belle. 

“ Everything came true, Maurice,” Rosalind 
said merrily. “ First Belle found a ring, and 
then the imprisoned maiden was rescued; but 
her name wasn’t Patricia, after all.” 

“ I don’t believe she wants to play the part 
again,” said Celia. 

“ Indeed, I don’t,” answered Belle. “ Here is 
the enchanted ring, Rosalind. Ask the magician 
to break the spell.” 

“ What children you are! ” Celia laughed, 
and her face was full of brightness as she 
descended the stairs with Belle beside her, the 
others following. Three steps from the bottom 
she came face to face with Allan Whittredge and 
Katherine. 

Celia hated herself for her burning cheeks as 
she bowed gravely. One hand held her work 


216 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


bag, the other was on Belle’s shoulder; and if, 
as for a fleeting instant she thought, Allan was 
about to hold out his hand, he changed his 
mind. His manner was calmly, unconcernedly 
polite as he spoke her name. 

“ Uncle Allan, what are you doing here ? ” 
called Rosalind. 

Under the chorus of greetings and explanations 
Celia slipped away. Her thoughts were in a 
tumult as she hurried across the grounds to her 
own home. 

Her mother was on the porch with a caller, 
and Celia took her seat there and went on with 
her sewing. The visitor remarked on her im¬ 
proved color, and Mrs. Fair looked at her daugh¬ 
ter in some perplexity, Celia had been so pale 
of late. 

All the evening she worked with feverish energy, 
writing labels for fruit jars and pasting them 
on, until no shadow of an excuse remained for 
not going to bed. 

When at length she went to her room, it was 
to sit at the open window gazing blankly out 
into the darkness. She had been telling her¬ 
self fiercely how silly and weak she was, but 


OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 217 

she had not succeeded in conquering her un¬ 
happiness. Now she resisted no longer. 

She had not met Allan Whittredge face to face 
before for six years, although since his father’s 
death he had been frequently in Friendship. She 
had known it must happen sometime, and had 
schooled herself to think it would mean nothing 
to her, but instead it had brought back a host 
of vain regrets. 

She had been happier of late. Association 
with those light-hearted children had brought 
back something of her old hopefulness. That 
a chance meeting with Allan Whittredge could 
change all this, humiliated her. 

“You haven’t any pride, Celia Fair. It was 
your own doing.” 

“ I had to do it; it was forced on me.” 

“And a fortunate thing it was. Do you sup¬ 
pose he would care now ? These years which 
he has spent out in the world — what have they 
done for you ? They have turned a happy- 
hearted girl into a bitter, disappointed woman.” 
So she argued with herself. 

Resting her head on the sill, she let her 
thoughts go where they would. 


218 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


“You are sure you won’t forget, Celia? It 
is going to be a long time,” Allan had said. 
She was still a schoolgirl, and he just through 
college, and no one but her father knew about 
it. Dr. Fair had shaken his head, but he loved 
Allan almost as much as he loved Celia. Allan 
must do as his mother wished and go abroad. 
Time would show of what stuff their love was 
made, he said. 

She had been so happy. She had been glad 
no one knew. Her happiness was all her own. 

Then had come Judge Whittredge’s illness, 
the trouble about the Gilpin will, and the cruel 
slander that had crushed her father. The brief 
letter with which she returned Allan’s letters 
and ring, was the result of her bitter resent¬ 
ment and grief. In her sorrow over her father’s 
death she told herself her love was dead, and 
for a time she believed it. Now she knew it 
was not so. 

“ At least, I will be honest with myself. I do 
care. Perhaps I shall always care. Oh, it is 
cruel to come so near happiness and miss it. 
But it is something to have come near it. 

“ O God, help me — ” she prayed, “ not to 


OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 


219 


choose the desert way. I do not want to be 
bitter and hard.” 

As she lay back in her chair, too weary to 
think, through her mind floated Rosalind’s words, 
“Things always come right in the Forest.” 

It was after dinner. The sun had set, leav¬ 
ing the sky full of opal tints. The delicate 
leaves of the white birch barely moved, so still 
was the air. The whir of the last locust had 
died away, and the soft splash of the fountain 
was the only sound, as Rosalind in her white 
dress flitted past the griffins and joined her 
uncle on the garden bench. He welcomed her 
with a smile, and smoked on in silence. They 
were too good comrades to need to talk. 

After a while Rosalind spoke: “ Uncle Allan, 
do you know Miss Celia Fair ? ” 

“ I used to.” 

Silence again. 

“ I like her very much. I think she is sweet, 
and she bears hard things bravely. Belle 
says, since her father died they haven’t any 
money, so Miss Celia works, and the boys are 
troublesome, and her mother is ill a great deal.” 


220 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


Another silence. 

“ Uncle Allan, was it any harm for me to know 
her? Belle said there was a quarrel, and Aunt 
Genevieve said, ‘We have nothing to do with 
the Fairs.’ ” 

As he flicked the ash from his cigar, Allan 
smiled at Rosalind’s unconscious imitation of 
Genevieve’s tone. 

“I see no reason why you should take up 
other people’s quarrels,” he said gravely. 

Then Rosalind told him of her first meeting with 
Celia, and the incident of the rose. “ But I think 
now I must have been mistaken,” she added. 

“ Perhaps,” said Allan, and again he smiled 
to himself in the twilight, so vividly did the 
story recall the occasional passionate outbursts 
of the child Celia, usually so gentle, so timidly 
reserved. 

That strange letter of hers had puzzled while 
it hurt. Far away from the scene of the trouble, 
he could not understand the bitterness of the 
strife. That for a village quarrel — some unkind 
words, perhaps — she could break the bond be¬ 
tween them — was this the Celia he thought he 
knew so well? 


OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 


221 


The wound had rankled, but after a time he 
told himself it was for the best. Travel and 
study had broadened and matured him, and he 
could smile now as he recognized, what was un¬ 
suspected at the time, that his mother had planned 
these years of absence in the determination to 
cure him of a boyish fancy which her eyes had 
been keen enough to detect. 

And yet — his thought would dwell upon her as 
she stood on the step, her arm around Belle, the 
laughter fading from her face. Not the little 
schoolgirl, but a woman, gracious and tender. 

Rosalind danced away to join Maurice and 
Katherine, whose humble penitence had restored 
her to favor; and over the hedge came the 
sound of their voices singing an old tune. On 
the still night air, in their clear treble, the words 
carried distinctly: — 

“ Should auld acquaintance be forgot ?” — 


CHAPTER TWENTIETH. 


THE SPINET. 

“ Thou art not for the fashion of these times.” 

“TY THERE are you going to put it, Celia?” 
W asked Mrs. Fair. 

“In Saint Cecilia’s room, I suppose,” her 
daughter replied. Her father had given this 
name to the sitting room which was her own 
special property, and in which she would have 
nothing that was not associated in some way with 
her great-grandmother. 

“ I don’t believe you ever enter it now,” Mrs. 
Fair continued discontentedly. 

“ The spinet won’t mind that; it is used to 
being alone,” Celia answered cheerfully, stand¬ 
ing before the mirror, fastening an oak leaf on 
her dress. It reminded her that even if her heart 
was heavy and her life full of difficulties, she 
could still be courageous. 


222 


THE SPINET. 


223 


“Things are sure to come right in the Forest,” 
she had said to herself again and again. Not 
because she believed it, but because she longed 
to, and sometimes she did believe it, — just for a 
little while, — as she looked from Patricia’s Arbor 
across to that bit of sunny road. 

Since the adventure of the Arden Foresters the 
cellar windows of the Gilpin house had been 
securely fastened, and its bolts and bars made 
proof against more experienced house breakers 
than they. And now preparations for the sale 
became evident. Circulars containing an inven¬ 
tory of the things to be disposed of were spread 
abroad, and it was known that the proprietor of 
the new mills, a stranger in Friendship, had been 
through the house with the idea of purchasing. 

As she unlocked the door of Saint Cecilia’s 
room, Celia could not help remembering the days 
when she had looked forward so happily to 
owning the spinet, and seeing it stand beneath 
her great-grandmother’s portrait. 

From the cushioned window-seat, where there 
was a glimpse of the river through the trees, she 
had loved to survey the calm orderliness of the 
little room. At heart something of a Puritan, 


224 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


the straight-backed chairs and unreposeful sofa, 
the secretary with its diamond-paned doors and 
glass knobs, the quaint old jardinieres brought 
from China a century ago, pleased her fancy. 

How Genevieve Whittredge had smiled and 
shrugged her shoulders! In those days their 
half antagonistic friendship had not suffered a 
complete break. She must have color and warmth 
and lavishness, and Celia acknowledged her unerr¬ 
ing taste and admired the beauty and richness 
Genevieve found necessary to her happiness, even 
while she returned contentedly to her own prim 
little room. 

It had been her dreaming place, and when 
dreams were crowded out by an exacting present, 
she had closed the door and turned the key. It 
was so much the less to take care of. 

“ I don’t see why Mr. Gilpin couldn’t have 
left you some money,” her mother said, follow¬ 
ing her. “ It would be such a help just now. 
How are we to keep Tom at the university 
another year?” 

Mrs. Fair had a way of bringing up problems 
just when her daughter had succeeded in putting 
them aside. 


THE SPINET. 


225 


“ I think we can manage in some way, mother. 
Don’t worry,” she said. 

“ But some one has to worry.” 

“Then let me do it,” Celia answered, smiling. 

Half an hour later she was standing by the 
spinet, absently touching the tuneless keys, when 
a voice from the window startled her. It was 
Morgan, who with his elbows on the sill, was 
looking in. 

“ Better sell it, Miss Celia.” 

Sell it! The idea had never occurred to her. 
“ What could I get for it ? ” she asked, going to 
the window. 

“Two hundred — maybe more.” 

Two hundred dollars would be a great 
help toward Tom’s expenses, but to give up 
her grandmother’s spinet? It took on a new 
value. 

“ Let me have it to do over and I guarantee 
you two hundred dollars,” said Morgan. 

“ I’ll think of it and let you know,” was Celia’s 
answer. 

“ It seems like the irony of fate,” she told 
herself, “to have to sell it almost before it is 
really mine; and yet when two hundred dollars 
Q 


226 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


lie within my reach, I can’t refuse to take 
them. Poor old spinet, it is too bad to send 
you away. I shouldn’t do it if I could help 
it; but you don’t fit in with these times. Or 
rather, you are helping me out; that is the way 
to look at it.” 

So it was that the spinet did not long keep 
company with the portrait of Saint Cecilia, its 
original owner, but was harked away to the shop 
of the magician and the society of the clock 
case and the claw-footed sofa. 

Here Allan Whittredge saw and recognized it 
one day, and questioned Morgan. Allan remem¬ 
bered the prim little sitting room, and how Celia 
had looked forward to owning the spinet, and it 
troubled him to think she was compelled to part 
with it. When he left the shop he went over 
to Miss Betty’s. 

After talking for a while about other things, 
he asked, “ Betty, is it true that Dr. Fair left 
his family with very little ? ” 

“ True ? Of course it is. Have you just found 
that out? Celia is working her fingers to the 
bone, and I wish I were sure those boys are 
worth it,” was her reply. 


THE SPINET. 


227 


“ How did it happen ? ” 

“Well, I don’t think Dr. Fair had the best 
judgment in the world when it came to 
investments; at the same time, a lot of other 
people lost in the ' West View coal mines. 
His death was a great shock; I loved Dr. 
Fair.” 

“ I too,” said Allan. “ He was a good 
man.” 

“ I don’t know whether you know it, Allan. 
Perhaps I ought not to tell you; but there was 
some talk of Dr. Fair’s treatment having done 
your father harm. I really believe your mother 
was out of her mind with anxiety, and you know 
she disliked the doctor. He was dismissed, you 
remember; and this was whispered about and 
exaggerated until I think it almost broke his 
heart. Of course there was no truth in it — 
that was made clear in the end; and his death 
put a stop to the talk, for everybody loved and 
respected Dr. Fair; but it has been terribly hard 
on Celia.” 

Allan sat looking at Miss Betty absently. 
“Terribly hard on Celia,” — the words repeated 
themselves over and over in his mind. 


228 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


“This is the first I ever heard of it,” he said 
at length. 

Miss Betty watched him as he walked away. 
“ As usual I have been minding some one else’s 
business,” she said to herself; “ but he ought to 
know it. Allan is a fine fellow.” 


CHAPTER TWENTY-FIRST. 


UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE. 

“Must you then be proud and pitiless?” 

T HE book containing the constitution of the 
Arden Foresters lay on the garden bench. 
The Foresters themselves were spending the 
afternoon at the creek at the foot of Red Hill. 
All was quiet in the neighborhood. The bank 
doors had closed two hours ago, and Friendship 
seemed to have retired for its afternoon nap. 

Allan Whittredge unfolded the County News 
and glanced over it, then laid it on his knee and 
gazed across the lawn with a thoughtful frown. 
The County News presented no problems, but 
life in this quiet village of Friendship did. His 
talk with Miss Betty had brought him face to 
face with them. He was conscious now that his 
attitude had been one of complacent superiority. 
He had held himself above the pettiness of vil- 


229 


230 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


lage life only to discover, as he admitted frankly, 
that he had been a conceited fool. 

His own indignation helped him to realize 
something of what Celia must have felt at the 
cruel affront to her father. And his silence all 
this while made him seem a party to it. It was 
an intolerable thought, but Allan was not one to 
brood over difficulties; a gleam of what Miss 
Betty called the Barnwell stubbornness shone in 
his eyes as he made an inward vow to find some 
way to convince Celia of his ignorance of much 
which had happened at the time of his father’s 
death, and to gain from his mother an admission 
of her mistake. The question how to accom¬ 
plish this, filled him with a helpless impatience. 

He took up the book that lay beside him and 
opened it. “The secret of the Forest: Good in 
everything,” he read. “To remember the secret 
of the Forest, to bear hard things bravely — ” 
He turned the leaves and saw under Morgan’s 
straggling characters the once familiar writing 
of Celia Fair,—the firm, delicate backhand, so 
suggestive, to one who knew her, of the deter¬ 
mination that lay beneath her gentleness. Did 
Celia believe there was good in everything ? 


UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE. 


231 


Surely not in all this trouble. Yet she was bear¬ 
ing hard things bravely, if all he heard were 
true. It hurt him to think of her carrying a load 
of responsibility and care. His own life seemed 
tame from its very lack of care. 

He closed the book with decision. His task 
was to unravel these twisted threads of hatred 
and misunderstanding, and he would do it. 

Meanwhile, he found time for other things. He 
began to cultivate the society of the Arden For¬ 
esters, and to be a boy again in earnest. 

Boating on the picturesque little river was one 
of the pleasures of Friendship. Jack Parton 
and his brothers owned a boat, the Mermaid; 
and Allan now provided himself with one, which 
he delighted Rosalind by naming for her. After 
this the Mermaid and the Rosalind might fre¬ 
quently be seen following the narrow stream in 
its winding course, making their way among water 
lilies and yellow and purple spatter-dock, between 
banks fringed with willows and wild oats and 
here and there a clump of cat-tails. What pleas¬ 
anter way than this of spending the early summer 
mornings ? And then to find some shady anchor¬ 
age, where lunch could be eaten and the hours 


232 MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 

fleeted away merrily until the cool of the 
afternoon. 

With only three in each boat, it was light work 
for the oarsman; and as rowing was something 
Maurice could do, and as the girls liked to take 
their turn, it often happened that Mr. Whittredge 
had nothing to do but enjoy himself. 

Allan smiled sometimes to think how much 
pleasure he found in the society of these young 
people. He usually carried a book or magazine, 
but as often as not it was unopened. 

“ I suppose the real Arden Foresters did not read 
books,” he remarked one day as, after glancing 
through the pages of a late novel, he tossed it 
disrespectfully into the empty lunch basket. 

They had eaten their picnic dinner and were 
resting in easy attitudes on the grass, — Miss 
Betty not being present to mention spines, — in 
sight of their boats, swinging gently at anchor. 

‘‘Not any?” exclaimed Rosalind, to whom the 
idea of no books was a dreadful one. 

“ But they were in a story and were having 
lots of fun,” said Belle. 

“ And they found their books in brooks, didn’t 
they ? ” added Maurice. 


UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE. 233 

“ When you are having fun, you don’t read so 
much, that is true,” Rosalind said, burying her 
hands in the mass of clover blooms Katherine 
tossed into her lap. “We’ll make a long, long 
chain, Katherine, and let it trail behind us as we 
go home.” 

“Give me your experience,” said Allan, 
stretched at lazy length, with his arms under 
his head. “ Have you found that there is good 
in things invariably ? ” 

“ I like Mr. Allan because he talks to us as if 
we were grown up,” Belle whispered to Rosalind. 

“ There is more than you would think, till you 
try,” Maurice answered. 

“ I think so, Uncle Allan,” said Rosalind. “ I 
shouldn’t have had this good time and learned to 
know all of you, if father had not gone with 
Cousin Louis. He said if I stayed in the Forest 
of Arden, I was sure to meet pleasant people, 
and I have.” Rosalind looked at her compan¬ 
ions with a soft light in her gray eyes. 

“ If it were not for you, we shouldn’t be hav¬ 
ing half so much fun,” said Belle, promptly. 

“ I think you would always have a good time, 
Belle,” answered Rosalind; “but I’m afraid if I 


234 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


hadn’t come to know all of you, I couldn’t have 
stayed in the Forest much longer, though the magi¬ 
cian did cheer me up.” 

“Then the idea is, that it is only when you 
stay in the Forest that you find the good in 
things?” said Allan. 

“That was the way in the story. Everything 
came right in the Forest,” Rosalind answered. 

“ I believe,” said Allan, “ I should like to be 
an Arden Forester.” 

This announcement was received with enthusi¬ 
asm. 

“That is, if I understand it. ‘To remember the 
Forest secret, to bear hard things bravely — ”’ 

“ And if you are an honorary member, like 
Miss Celia and Morgan, you won’t have to search 
for the ring,” put in Belle. 

“ The ring is found, and is waiting till the 
magician breaks the spell. You know, Uncle 
Allan, he has hung it on a nail in his shop, by 
the door, just as if he were trying really,” 
Rosalind explained. 

“I think I shall ask to be taken on probation,” 
Mr. Whittredge continued. 

“What’s that?” asked Jack. 


UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE. 235 

“On trial. I might not do you credit, you 
know.” 

The Arden Foresters refused to admit the 
possibility of this, and Belle and Rosalind began 
delightedly to enumerate their members. 

They rowed homeward slowly, for it was up 
stream, and as they went they unwound the 
clover chain, and let it trail far behind them until 
it caught among the reeds and was broken. 

When they passed the Gilpin place, on their 
way from the landing, a stop was made for a 
fresh supply of oak leaves from their favorite 
tree, and Rosalind pinned one on her uncle’s 
coat. 

“ I invite the Arden Foresters to meet with 
me to-morrow under the greenwood tree,” said 
Mr. Whittredge, surveying his badge. 

“That’s poetry, go on,” said Jack. 

“I’ll have to fall back into prose to finish. 
At the foot of Red Hill, at half-past seven p.m.” 

“ What tree does he mean ? ” asked Katherine. 

“ Under the greenwood tree is a poetical fig¬ 
ure,” Mr. Whittredge explained. 

“It will be dark at half-past seven,” said 
Jack. 


236 MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 

“ Of course it will be, and that’s going to be 
the fun,” cried Belle. 

“There will be a moon,” added Maurice, who 
was wise in such matters. 

“ And what are we to do there ? ” asked Rosa¬ 
lind. 

“That remains to be seen,” was all the satis¬ 
faction her uncle would give her. 

Anticipation was the order of the next day, 
and the hours of the afternoon rather dragged. 
At dinner Rosalind could not keep her eyes 
from the clock, while her uncle ate in his usual 
leisurely manner, smiling at her quizzically now 
and then. 

“ It will not take more than twenty minutes to 
walk out,” he remarked, at length, when the 
hands pointed to seven o’clock. 

Mrs. Whittredge looked inquiring. 

“We are to have a little moonlight party at 
the creek to-night. We shall not be late, Rosa¬ 
lind and I,” Allan added. 

“You are making a new departure, are you 
not ? A picnic yesterday, another to-night. 
You are really falling into the ways of Friend¬ 
ship.” 


UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE. 237 


“ I am only beginning again where I left off 
years ago. Rosalind is showing me how.” Allan 
smiled across the table, this time a smile of 
good-fellowship. 

The August nights were cool, and Rosalind 
carried her cape with its pointed hood, when, 
the long ten minutes having passed, they set 
out. Maurice and Katherine were watching for 
them, and farther down the street the Partons 
joined them. 

Under the trees that grew so thick, it was 
already dim twilight, but when they reached 
the more open country road there was still a 
glow in the sky, and over Red Hill floated the 
golden moon, attended by a single star. On 
the little sandy beach beneath the bridge, where 
the water rippled so pleasantly over the stones, 
a fire was burning, and before it on a log, with 
Curly Q. by his side, sat the magician, whittling. 

“ Is this the party ? How lovely! What fun ! ” 
they cried, running down to join Morgan and be 
received by Curly Q. with ecstatic barks. 

The magician was evidently expecting them, 
for he at once began distributing pointed sticks. 

“ What are they for ? ” asked Belle. 


238 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


This was soon explained. Mr. Whittredge pro¬ 
duced a tin box from somewhere and proceeded 
to open it, and Katherine, who was next him, 
said, “ Marshmallows.” 

“Yes, this is a marshmallow roast,” he replied; 
and fixing one of the white drops on the pointed 
stick, he held it toward the glowing embers. 

The others followed his lead without loss of 
time, — the magician and all; and Curly Q. sat 
erect and eager, giving an occasional muffled 
“woof” to remind them that he liked marshmal¬ 
lows too. 

The rose tints faded from the sky; the moon 
sailed higher; and the glow of the fire grew 
deeper. The Arden Foresters toasted and talked, 
and ate their marshmallows, not forgetting Curly 
Q., and were as merry as the crickets that chirped 
around them, — as merry, at least, as those insects 
are said to be. 

When it was really impossible to eat another 
one } they built up the fire for the pleasure of 
watching it, and sang songs and told stories, the 
magician, with his elbows on his knees, looking 
from one to another and laughing as if he un¬ 
derstood all the fun. 


UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE. 


239 

The glow of their fire and the sound of their 
voices could be seen and heard far up on Red 
Hill; so Celia Fair told them, emerging suddenly 
out of the darkness into the firelight. In her 
white dress, with something fleecy about her 
head and shoulders, she suggested a piece of 
thistledown. 

The children gave her a rapturous welcome 
and proffered marshmallows; the magician looked 
on smiling. Allan had gone in search of fire¬ 
wood. Celia had been up the hill to visit an 
old servant who was ill, and returning, with Bob 
for guard, had seen the fire and heard the voices. 

‘‘At first I thought of gypsies, and then Rosa¬ 
lind’s pointed hood suggested witches, and it 
was only when I reached the bridge that I 
recognized you,” she said; adding, “ No, I can’t 
stay. Bob is taking me home.” 

“ Do stay; I’ll take you home, Miss Celia,” 
said Jack, as Rosalind bestowed marshmallows 
on the grinning Bob. 

Celia hesitated, then turned, as if about to dis¬ 
miss her escort, when Allan Whittredge stepped 
into the circle and cast an armful of wood on 
the fire. Celia retreated into the shadow. 


240 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


“ I must go, dear,” she whispered to Belle’s 
urging. 

A chorus of protest followed her as she hurried 
up the bank. She had hardly reached the road 
when she heard her name spoken quietly, and 
turning, she faced Allan Whittredge in the moon¬ 
light. 

There was some hesitation in his manner as 
he said, “ I can understand your wish to avoid 
me, and yet I am anxious to have a few moments’ 
talk with you, now or at any time that may suit 
you.” As he spoke, a sense of the absurdity of 
this formality between old playmates swept over 
him, almost bringing a smile to his lips. 

Celia spoke gently. “I think not. I mean I can 
imagine no reason for it— no good it could do.” 

“ But you can’t judge of that until you know 
what I have to say. Something I did not under¬ 
stand has recently been made clear to me and — 
it is of that I wish to speak.” 

“If it has anything to do with the — the differ¬ 
ence between your family and mine, it is needless 
— useless. I cannot listen, I can only try to for¬ 
get.” On the last word Celia’s voice broke a 
little. 


UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE. 


Allan took a step forward ; “I do not think 
you have a right to refuse. You should 
grant me the privilege of defending myself 
against— ” 

Celia interposed, “ I have not accused you, 
Mr. Whittredge; there is no occasion for defence. 
I must say good night.” 

Nothing could have been more final than her 
manner as she moved away toward Bob, who 
waited at a discreet distance. There was no 
uncertainty in her voice now, nor in the poise 
of her head. 

Allan stood in the road, looking after her re¬ 
treating figure. He had bungled. If he had 
begun in the right way, she would have been 
compelled to listen. What could he do to obtain 
a hearing ? After two years of silence he could 
not wonder at her refusal to listen to him 


now. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-SECOND. 

CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 

" I sometimes do believe and sometimes do not.” 

“ T^ELLE! ” called Mrs. Parton from the 
JLJ porch, addressing her daughter, who swung 
lazily to and fro in the hammock, her eyes on a 
book, “ I can’t find Jack, and I want you to take 
this money to Morgan. Your father reminded 
me of the bill just before he left, and I haven’t 
thought of it from that day to this.” 

“ Oh, mother, can’t — ? ” 

“ Can’t who ? You know there isn’t a soul to 
send but you, and I must have this off my mind. 
Manda is helping me with the sweet pickles, and 
Tilly has gone to camp-meeting.” 

Belle rose reluctantly, tossed back her hair, and 
went in search of her hat. 

“ Be sure now to get a receipt,” Mrs. Parton 
said, as she gave the money into Belle’s hands. 
“ I am not afraid of Morgan, but the colonel is 


242 


CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 243 

certain to accuse me of not paying it if I haven’t 
a receipt to show him.” 

Belle tucked her book under her arm and 
walked off. 

“ Now, Belle,” protested her mother, “why can’t 
you leave that book at home ? Don’t let me hear 
of your reading as you go along the street.” 

“ I won’t, but I like to carry it,” answered 
Belle, patting it lovingly. She was deeply in¬ 
terested in the story, and begrudged the time 
it took to walk to the magician’s. Once there, 
she decided she would stay awhile to rest and 
finish the chapter. 

The day was warm, and she strolled along in 
lazy fashion. The Whittredge house as she 
passed looked deserted. The front shutters were 
closed, and no one was to be seen. Rosalind 
had gone away with her uncle for a few days. 
Belle amused herself by imagining that Rosa¬ 
lind’s having been there at all was a dream, and 
she succeeded in producing a bewildering sense 
of unreality in her own mind. 

Morgan was not in his shop, but that he had 
been there recently was evident, for his tools lay 
scattered about. 


244 


MR. PATS LITTLE GIRL. 


After the heat of the street the shop was cool 
and inviting, and a corner of an old sofa offered 
itself as a desirable spot in which to continue 
the story. It stood against the wall, and with 
several other pieces of furniture before it, was 
a secluded as well as a comfortable resting-place. 
Belle settled herself to her liking and was at 
once lost in her book. She finished the chapter 
and read another, and was beginning a third 
when something aroused her. For a moment 
she couldn’t remember where she was, then with 
a finger in her book she peeped around the clock 
case, which with a high-backed chair screened 
her corner. 

The magician stood in the middle of the room, 
with his back toward her, gazing intently at 
something in his hand. Belle was about to come 
out of her hiding-place when he stepped to the 
window, and holding the object up between his 
thumb and finger, let the sunlight fall upon it, 
laughing gleefully like a child over a toy. 

Belle drew back quickly. Was she dreaming 
still? She pinched herself. No, she was awake, 
and in the magician’s shop, and the thing she had 
seen in his hand was nothing less than Patricia’s 


CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 


245 


ring! She had heard it described too often 
not to recognize it. But how came it in Morgan’s 
possession ? She sat still and thought. 

Meanwhile, after turning it over and over, and 
nodding and laughing to himself in a way that 
would have seemed rather crazy to one who did 
not know him, the magician disappeared into 
the back room, closing the door behind him. 
Belle seized the opportunity to steal from the 
shop. It would be easier to think out of doors. 

The little brown and white house across the 
lane was keeping itself to-day. Miss Betty had 
gone to the city, and Sophy was at camp-meeting, 
as Belle happened to know, so she went over 
and sat on the porch step beside a large hy¬ 
drangea. She must decide what to do. She 
remembered very distinctly the circumstances 
connected with the disappearance of the ring. 
Morgan had been one of the last persons to 
speak to old Mr. Gilpin before the attack of 
heart failure that ended his life, but no one had 
dreamed of suspecting him. Could he have had 
it all this time ? 

Belle felt ashamed of herself for the thought. 
If there was an honest person in the world, it 


246 MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 

was Morgan. She had heard her father talk of 
circumstantial evidence, and how easy it was to 
draw wrong conclusions. She was puzzled. One 
thing was certain, she had seen the ring in his 
hand. 

“ Now, if he were really a magician, I might 
think he had broken the spell on the ring we 
found in the Gilpin house,” she said to herself. 

She must go back and pay the bill; for if she 
did not, her mother would have to know the 
reason, and Belle was not sure it would be wise 
to tell her about the discovery. Mrs. Parton 
acknowledged frankly she couldn’t keep a secret, 
and Belle was wise enough to see it wouldn’t 
do to spread the news abroad. 

“ I wish Rosalind was here,” she thought. 

When at length she made up her mind to go 
back, the magician was at work and greeted 
her just as usual. Belle wondered if she had 
not dreamed it after all. While he went into 
the next room to make change and receipt the 
bill, she looked for the ring she and Rosalind 
had hung on a nail beside the door. It was 
gone. Had any one ever known such a perplex¬ 
ing state of affairs ? 


CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 


247 


The magician must have wondered what made 
the usually merry Belle so grave, for he asked if 
she was well as he gave her the bill. 

As she walked slowly homeward, she noticed 
a large, dignified gentleman coming toward her. 
He did not belong to Friendship, she knew, and 
she wondered a little who he might be. He 
looked down on her benevolently through his 
spectacles as he passed, and for a moment seemed 
about to speak. Belle quickly forgot him, how¬ 
ever, for the ring occupied her thoughts to the 
exclusion of everything else. Even the story 
so fascinating an hour ago, had lost its charm. 

“ Does your head ache ? ” her mother asked, 
seeing her sitting on the doorstep, her chin in her 
hand, her book unopened beside her. 

“No, mother; I am just thinking,” was Belle’s 
reply. 

She was trying to decide whom to tell. “ I 
wish father was at home,” she said to herself. 

She went to bed with the matter still undecided, 
and the first thing she thought of when she 
opened her eyes the next day was the ring. A 
conversation overheard between her mother and 
Manda, the cook, added to her uneasiness. 


248 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


“ Miss Mary, did you know there was a ’tective 
loafin’ round town ? ” 

“ A detective ? No, I did not. If there is, it 
won’t make any difference to you and me,” 
answered Mrs. Parton. 

“ Maybe it don’t make no difference to white 
folks, but looks like they’s always ’spicioning 
niggers,” continued Manda, with a shake of her 
head. “Tilly Tows it’s that thar ring of old 
Marse Gilpin’s.” 

“ Hardly,” said Mrs. Parton, with a laugh. 
Belle, remembering the stranger, wondered if it 
might not be true. 

Such talk among the servants of Friendship was 
nothing new. Since the first excitement over the 
disappearance of the ring, it had broken out peri¬ 
odically; but to Belle this morning it seemed a 
strange coincidence. Suppose some one else had 
seen the ring in Morgan’s possession ? And now 
it occurred to her to tell Miss Celia. 

On her way to the Fairs’ she met the stranger 
again, this time in front of Mrs. Graham’s school. 
He was looking about him with an air of interest, 
and as Belle approached he asked if this was not 
the Bishop residence. 


CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 


249 


“It was,” she answered, “but it is a school 
now.” 

The gentleman thanked her and walked on. 

“ I believe he is a detective,” she said to 
herself. 

Celia was in her usual place in the arbor 
bending over a piece of embroidery, when Belle 
found her. 

“ Miss Celia, I have the strangest thing to tell 
you,” she began, and then unfolded her story. 

Celia listened in astonishment. “ Why, Belle, 
it isn’t possible — you don’t think — ” 

“ Miss Celia, I don’t know. I saw the ring, 
and I know Morgan isn’t a thief, but I don’t 
understand it.” 

“ No, indeed. Morgan, whom we have always 
known—who is honest as the day! ” Celia was 
silent for a moment, then she said, “ Belle, it 
seems to me the only thing for you to do is to 
tell Mr. Whittredge. The ring belongs to him ; 
he will know what to do far better than we, 
and he will think of Morgan, too.” 

“ I would have told him, but he has gone 
away.” 

“ Gone?” 


250 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


Belle wondered a little at Miss Celia’s tone; 
it was as if she cared a great deal. 

“ I don’t think he will be gone long. He took 
Rosalind with him,” she added. 

“Then I should wait till his return. A few 
days more can’t make much difference. You 

have been very wise not to mention it to any 

__ >> 

one. 

But when Belle told about the supposed 
detective, Celia laughed and said she had a vivid 
imagination, and that it was only a coincidence 
that the old rumors should be revived just 
now. 

As Belle went down the hill, feeling somewhat 
crestfallen and rather tired of the whole matter 
of the ring, she met Maurice and Jack. Jack had 
spent the night with Maurice, and now they were 
on their way to the landing to take some pictures 
with Maurice’s new camera. They made no 
objection to her proposal to join them, so she 
turned back, feeling strongly tempted to tell 
her story to them; but she had agreed with Miss 
Celia that it was best not to talk about it until 
Mr. Whittredge’s return, and Belle prided herself 
on her ability to keep a secret. 


CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 


251 


The interest of deciding what view would make 
the best picture made her forget the ring for a 
while; but as they sat on the edge of the dock 
waiting to catch a sailboat about to start out, she 
suddenly said, “ Boys, I believe I saw a detective 
this morning,” and she described the stranger. 

“ Why do you think he is a detective ? ” asked 
Maurice. 

“Well, you know they always wear spectacles 
and try to look like ministers,” she answered 
confidently. 

“ Pshaw! they have all sorts of disguises,” said 
Jack. 

“ I don’t care, I’m sure he is one, and I think 
he is looking for the ring.” Belle pursed up her 
lips as much as to say she might tell more. 

“ You are trying to make us believe you know 
something,” remarked Jack, with brotherly scorn. 

“I do. Something I can’t tell for — well, for 
several days.” 

“ Who knows it beside you ? ” asked Maurice. 

“Just Miss Celia.” 

If Miss Celia knew, it seemed worthy of more 
respect. “ How did you find it out ? ” asked 
Jack. 


252 MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 

“I can’t tell you. It is a mystery; but, boys, I 
want to keep an eye on that man and see what he 
does,” Belle said impressively. 

“ How about taking his picture ? ” suggested 
Maurice. 

“Just the thing!” Belle clapped her hands. 
“ Let’s go look for him now.” 

Anything that promised some fun was hailed 
with delight. It had been a little dull in Rosa¬ 
lind’s absence. When she was with them nobody 
was conscious of her leadership, but now she was 
away they were at a loss. 

They waylaid old Mr. Biddle, driving in from 
the country with a load of apples, and demanded a 
ride which he good-naturedly allowed them, and 
they drove down the hill in state. When they 
came within sight of the post-office, Belle clutched 
Maurice’s arm. “There he is,” she whispered. 
“ Let’s get out and wait for him. You have your 
camera ready.” 

The obliging Mr. Biddle stopped his horse and 
let his passenger out. As for the stranger, if he 
had known what was wanted of him, he couldn’t 
have been more accommodating. He came slowly 
down the steps of the post-office and stood within 


CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 


253 


a few yards of the doorway, where three giggling 
young persons had taken shelter. Maurice had 
time for half a dozen pictures if he wanted 
them. 

“ He isn’t a detective,” whispered Jack. “ I’ll 
bet a dime he is a minister.” 

“ I said he looked like a minister,” Belle 
retorted. 

“ I am going to Burke’s to get him to show me 
about developing,” said Maurice, as the stranger 
moved away. “ Wouldn’t it be fun if we could 
have his picture to show Rosalind when she comes 
to-morrow ? ” 

“ Is she coming to-morrow ? Oh, I am glad ! ” 
said Belle. 

“ Let’s follow and see where he goes,” Jack 
proposed, as Maurice left them; and Belle nothing 
loath, they dogged the steps of the supposed 
detective. She was both alarmed and triumphant 
when he was seen to turn into Church Lane, but 
all other emotions were swallowed up in surprise 
when, instead of crossing to the magician’s shop, 
he entered Miss Betty Bishop’s front gate. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-THIRD. 


THE DETECTIVE. 


“ ’Twas I, but ’tis not I.” 


HE next morning Belle and Jack awaited 



A the 10.30 train, seated together on a trunk 
on the station platform. Celia saw them from 
the door of the express office across the road. 
Presently they recognized her and began to 
wave, and then Belle came flying over to tell 
her how they had taken the detective’s picture 
and had afterward seen him enter Miss Betty’s 


gate. 


“ Why should a detective go to Miss 
Betty’s ? ” Celia asked, much amused. 

“Why should he go if he wasn’t a detec¬ 
tive?” Belle demanded. 

“Why not? He may be an agent, or a 
friend,” Celia suggested, laughing. 

A whistle in the distance left no time for 
argument. Belle flew back to the platform, 


254 


THE DETECTIVE. 


255 

where Maurice had joined Jack. Celia turned 
toward home. 

She was more perplexed over Belle’s story 
about the ring than she cared to own. Not for 
a moment did she think Morgan had taken it; 
and yet he was getting to be an old man and 
she recalled something she had heard her father 
say about a certain brain disease that first showed 
itself in acts wholly out of keeping with the 
character of its victim. Could this be the 
explanation ? 

It was a relief to know that it would soon be 
in Allan Whittredge’s hands. That he would 
do the kindest, wisest thing, she never thought 
of doubting. 

She had heard with a sinking of heart that 
he had gone away, and she scorned herself for 
the sensation of relief when Belle added, it was 
only for a few days. Celia deeply regretted 
the way in which she had met his request to 
speak with her that night at Friendly Creek. 
Why could she not have listened quietly? In 
these days she was torn by conflicting feelings. 
The spirit of the Forest was slowly tempering 
the bitterness in her heart, but it sometimes 


256 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


seemed to her that her loyalty to her father 
was weakening. 

It was fortunate matters at home demanded 
her thoughts. Plans for the winter, getting the 
boys off to school, and the many small cares of 
the housekeeper left little time for brooding. 

At the station Belle, in her eagerness to be 
the first to greet Rosalind, had to be dragged 
back out of harm’s way by the baggage master, 
as the long train swept around the curve. 

“You’ll find yourself killed one of these days 
if you don’t look out,” remarked Jack, descend¬ 
ing from the trunk. 

But Belle gave small heed. “ I am so glad 
you have come,” she cried, seizing upon Rosa¬ 
lind almost before she had her foot on the 
ground. “Such lots of things have happened.” 

“Aren’t you glad to see me too?” asked Mr. 
Whittredge. 

“Yes, I am especially glad to see you, be¬ 
cause I have something to tell you. Some¬ 
thing I can’t tell any one else.” 

“ Bless me! this is interesting. Just wait till 
I find my checks, and we’ll walk up town 
together.” 


THE DETECTIVE. 257 

Belle, however, was not destined to relate her 
story just then, for no sooner had they started 
out, she in front with Mr. Whittredge, and 
Rosalind and the boys following, than Mr. 
Molesworth joined them and began talking 
about the paper mills. There was nothing for her 
but to fall back with the others, and this was not 
without its compensation, for now she could have 
a share in telling Rosalind about the detective. 

“ It’s all nonsense. I don’t believe he was a 
detective at all, but it was fun taking his pic¬ 
ture,” said Jack. 

“ I’ll have it to show you to-morrow,” added 
Maurice. 

“Why don’t you ask Cousin Betty who he 
is ? ” suggested Rosalind. 

Belle’s deep sense of the mystery of things 
had kept her from thinking of this simple 
method of solving the problem. 

“Of course we might,” she acknowledged. 

“ I want to stop at Morgan’s a moment,” 
Allan looked back to say. 

At the magician’s corner Mr. Molesworth left 
them; but as it was only a step to the shop, 
the secret still remained untold. 


25S MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 

Morgan seemed delighted beyond all reason 
at sight of them. He greeted Allan as if he 
had been away years instead of days; and tap¬ 
ping his own breast, he exclaimed, looking from 
one to another, “ I am Morgan, the magician! ” 
Then pointing to the nail where the children had 
hung the brass ring, he added, “ I have broken the 
spell! ” With this he disappeared for a moment 
into the back room, but he was with them again 
before they had recovered from their surprise at 
his strange manner; and now he held something 
in his hand which he waved aloft gleefully. 

Belle began to understand that all her anxiety 
had been needless. 

“ What does this mean ? ” asked Allan, as 
Morgan put into his hand a little worn case. 

The children crowded around him as he 
opened it and disclosed the long-lost, much 
talked of sapphire ring. In his delight the 
cabinet-maker almost danced a jig, and con¬ 
tinued to repeat, “I’m a magician.” 

“ It’s found ; it’s found! ” cried Rosalind. 

“And I knew it,” said Belle. 

“Hello!” exclaimed Jack. “Was this your 
secret ? Did Morgan tell you ? ” 


THE DETECTIVE. 


259 


Belle tried to explain her discovery, but so 
great was the excitement nobody would listen. 
It was really beyond belief that Patricia’s ring 
was actually in their hands. It was some time 
before they quieted down sufficiently to hear 
Morgan’s story. 

He had begun work on the spinet several 
days ago, he said, and upon removing the top 
had noticed something wedged in under the 
strings, which upon investigation he found to be 
the case containing the ring. 

“ But where is the other ring ? ” Rosalind 
asked. 

The magician laughed and said that was 
another story, and he told how the evening be¬ 
fore the real ring was found, Crisscross had 
been seized with a fit of unusual playfulness, 
and jumping up on the chest, above which the 
ring hung, had begun to move it to and fro with 
his paw, presently knocking it off and sending 
it rolling across the floor. He darted after it 
under tables and chairs but apparently never 
found it; nor could the magician, although he 
searched carefully. 

“ So the mystery is not ended yet. We do 


26 o 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


not know what became of the magic ring, nor 
how the real ring came to be in the spinet,” 
Allan remarked. 

“ It is exactly like a sure enough fairy tale,” 
added Belle; and then she whispered her part of 
the story, turning her back to the magician, for 
fear he might see what she was talking about. 

“ And how about the detective ? Did you 
think he was coming to arrest Morgan?” asked 
Maurice. 

Belle looked a little shamefaced. “ I didn’t 
know,” she said. 

Mr. Whittredge wanted to hear about the 
detective, and was much amused at her descrip¬ 
tion of the taking of his picture. 

Rosalind as she listened held the ring in her 
hand — Patricia’s ring. She had thought a great 
deal about Patricia, and this seemed to bring 
her near and make her more real — the young 
girl who had looked like Aunt Genevieve, only 
more kind. 

“Let’s show the ring to Miss Betty! May 
we, Mr. Whittredge ? ” asked Belle. 

Allan did not appear enthusiastic over the 
suggestion, but he did not refuse, and followed 


THE DETECTIVE. 


261 

the children at a distance as they raced across 
the street. 

“There’s the detective now,” cried Jack, at 
the gate. 

“ Where ? ” the others asked breathlessly. 

“ On the porch with Miss Betty.” 

Sure enough, partially shielded from view by 
the vines, in one of Miss Betty’s comfortable 
chairs, sat the stranger. 

“Why — ’’began Rosalind, stopping short, “it 
looks like— Why, Dr. Hollingsworth! I didn’t 
know you were here ! ” 

At the same moment the gentleman started up, 
exclaiming, “Well, Rosalind, they said you were 
out of town. I am very glad to see you,” and 
they met and clasped hands like warm friends. 

“ Children! ” cried Rosalind, turning to her 
companions, “this is our president, Dr. Hollings¬ 
worth.” 

“And these are the young people who took 
my photograph yesterday,” Dr. Hollingsworth 
observed gravely. There was a twinkle in his 
eye, however. 

By this time Mr. Whittredge had arrived on 
the scene and was introduced. 


262 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


" So this is the detective,” he said. 

The culprits looked at each other and medi¬ 
tated flight, but changed their minds when Dr. 
Hollingsworth shook hands with them, and said 
he knew how it was to have a new camera and 
want to take everything in sight, and that he 
really felt complimented. 

Belle thought she wouldn’t have minded, except 
for the detective part of it, over which Mr. Whit- 
tredge made so much fun. 

The ring was exhibited, and the whole matter 
made clear after a while, and Dr. Hollingsworth 
said he was glad to have figured in any capacity 
in such an interesting occurrence. 

“And how in the world did it get in the 
spinet ? ” asked Miss Betty. “ I believe Cousin 
Thomas put it there himself, as a practical joke.” 

Miss Betty might have been holding a recep¬ 
tion that morning, so full of people did her 
small porch appear, and so continuous was the 
hum of voices. 

Dr. Hollingsworth, it seemed, had been in the 
habit of visiting in Friendship twenty years ago, 
and finding himself in the vicinity, he had made 
it convenient to call upon his old friends; but, 


THE DETECTIVE. 


263 


as he said, things had been rather against him. 
His college friend, the Presbyterian minister, was 
away on his vacation, Miss Bishop out of town for 
the day, and Rosalind, he did not know where. 

“And so there was nothing for me to do but 
loaf about that first afternoon,” he explained, 
“but little did I think to what dark suspicions 
I was laying myself open,” and he smiled at 
Belle. 

“ Cousin Betty, you never told me you knew 
our president,” Rosalind said reproachfully. 

Miss Betty laughed. “You see it had been 
such a long, long time, Rosalind — ” 

“ That she had forgotten me,” added the presi¬ 
dent. 

“Oh, no, I hadn’t,” she insisted. 

They all felt that they should like to see more 
of him, and that it was too bad he had to leave 
on the five o’clock train. The last hour was 
spent with the Whittredges, and Rosalind and 
Allan accompanied him to the station. Here, 
while they waited, Rosalind had an opportunity 
to tell him about the society of Arden Foresters, 
in which he seemed greatly interested, and was 
saying he should like to belong, when the gong 


264 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


sounded the approach of the train, and there 
was only time for good-by. 

“ I shall be in this part of the country late in 
October, and may look in upon you again,” the 
president put his head out of the window to say, 
as the conductor called, “All aboard.” 


CHAPTER TWENTY-FOURTH. 


AT THE AUCTION. 

“ Assuredly the thing is to be sold.” 

LTHOUGH the September days were warm, 



X JL it was plain that summer was departing. 
The flutter of yellow butterflies along the road 
told it, so did the bursting pods of the milkweed, 
and the golden-rod and asters, wreathing the 
meadows in royal colors. 

The potting of plants began in the gardens, 
housewifely minds turned to fall cleaning, the 
spicy odor of tomato catsup pervaded the atmos¬ 
phere, and the sound of the school bell was 
heard in the land. 

It was always so, Belle groaned. Just when out 
of doors grew most alluring, lessons put in their 
superior claim. To be sure, there were some 
free afternoons and always Saturdays, but one 
did not want to lose a moment of the fleeting 
beauty. 


265 


266 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


Rosalind missed somewhat the constant com¬ 
panionship of her friends. Mrs. Whittredge 
thought it hardly worth while to enter her in 
school for two months, but at the instigation of 
Miss Herbert some home instruction was begun 
This Uncle Allan had no conscience about inter¬ 
rupting whenever he wanted Rosalind for a 
drive or walk. As yet he said nothing about 
leaving Friendship. A few brief sentences had 
been exchanged with his mother upon the sub¬ 
ject that weighed most heavily on his mind. 

“ Has anything ever been done, any step 
taken, to correct the unfounded report which 
got out at the time of my father’s death, in regard 
to Dr. Fair’s treatment of the case?” he asked 
abruptly one evening. 

The color rose in Mrs. Whittredge’s face, and 
she looked up from her work. “ I do not under¬ 
stand you. How do you know it was un¬ 
founded ? ” 

“For one thing, because I have taken pains 
to investigate. I saw Dr. Bell in Baltimore.” 

“ May I ask why this sudden zeal ? ” His 
mother went on taking careful stitches in a piece 
of linen. 


AT THE AUCTION. 


267 


“ For the reason that until a few weeks ago I 
knew nothing about it. Now I cannot rest till 
the cruel wrong has been in some measure 
righted.” 

“And you conclude without question, at once, 
that all the wrong is on one side. But I should 
not be surprised. I have ever been the last to 
be considered by my children.” 

“You are not quite fair, mother,” Allan an¬ 
swered gently, touched by the unhappy bit of 
truth in this remark; “but I’ll not defend myself 
more than to say that I am not judging any one. 
I only wish the wrong on our side made right.” 
And he added, what he realized afterward had 
the sound of a threat, “Unless it is done, I can 
never call Friendship my home.” 

Here it ended for the time. 

And now, after a week of rain, October began 
with perfect weather, and from the strangers 
who flocked to the auction, attracted by reports 
of Lowestoft plates and Sheraton furniture, were 
heard many expressions of delight at the beauty 
of the old town. 

For two hours before the sale began, a stream 


268 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


of people passed through the house, examining 
its contents, or wandered about the grounds, ad¬ 
miring the view and the fine beech trees. Friend¬ 
ship itself was well represented in the throng, 
but rather in the character of interested on¬ 
lookers than probable purchasers. 

Miss Betty was there to watch the fate of her 
silver, and Allan Whittredge had brought Rosa¬ 
lind, who was eager to see for herself what an 
auction was like. She hung entranced over Pa¬ 
tricia’s miniature, which with some other small 
things of value had been placed in a glass case 
in the library, until her uncle told her if she 
would select some article of furniture that par¬ 
ticularly pleased her, he would try to get it for 
her. This delighted her beyond measure, and 
after much consideration she chose a chest of 
drawers, with a small mirror above it, swung 
between two sportive and graceful dolphins. 
“The little dolphin bureau,” she called it. 

The sale was to begin at eleven o’clock, and 
silverware and china were first to be disposed 
of. The long drawing-room was full of camp 
chairs, and the audience had begun to assemble 
when Rosalind entered and sat down in a corner 



(( 


SHE CHOSE A CHEST OF DRAWERS.” 













$ 












AT THE AUCTION. 


269 


to wait for her uncle, who was interviewing the 
auctioneer. Two rows in front of her she saw 
Miss Betty, with Mrs. Parton and Mrs. Moles- 
worth. 

“ Do you expect to bid on your cream-jug and 
sugar-bowl when they are put up, Betty ? ” asked 
Mrs. Parton; adding, “ How this chair squeaks ! 
I wonder if it will hold me.” 

“ I haven’t made up my mind,” was the answer. 
“It goes against the grain to give money for 
what is really mine already. I can’t get over 
the impression that this is a funeral instead of a 
sale.” 

“ I wonder if the Whittredges will buy any¬ 
thing. I saw Allan in the hall,” said Mrs. Moles- 
worth. She was a tall, angular person, with a 
severe manner, a marked contrast to Mrs. Parton, 
with her ample proportions and laughing face. 
“By the way, Betty,” she continued, “what has 
become of the ring ? ” 

“ I know no more than you.” 

The entrance of several strangers and some 
confusion about seats, kept Rosalind from hear¬ 
ing any more of the conversation for a time. A 
portly man completely blocked the way, and she 


270 MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 

began to wonder if her uncle would be able to 
get to the chair she was keeping for him. 

When things were quiet again, she heard Mrs. 
Molesworth say, leaning over Miss Betty and 
speaking to Mrs. Parton, “Why, she was an 
actress, wasn’t she ? ” 

“ I don’t see that that was such an insupera¬ 
ble objection,” Mrs. Parton replied. “In point 
of family she was just as good as he, perhaps a 
little better. The colonel and I met a lady at 
Cape May who knew them well. This girl was 
left an orphan early, and through the rascality 
of her guardian found herself penniless at seven¬ 
teen. She had inherited the artistic gift of her 
family, only in her it took the dramatic turn, and 
necessity and her surroundings all combined to 
lead her in that direction. Then just as she was 
making a success she gave it up to marry — ” 
Another interruption, and Rosalind did not hear 
whom she married. 

Her uncle now managed to join her by step¬ 
ping over the backs of chairs, and it was not 
long before the sale began. 

From the start it was evident the city people 
had not come to look on. Bidding was spirited, 


AT THE AUCTION. 


271 


and Miss Betty’s silver soon went “ out of sight,” 
as Mrs. Parton expressed it. 

Rosalind was highly entertained, and whenever 
her uncle put in a quiet bid, as he did now and 
then, she held her breath, fairly, for fear he 
would not get what he wanted. 

To Allan there was an unreality about it all. 
It seemed so short a time since he and Gene¬ 
vieve and Celia had been children together, tak¬ 
ing tea with Cousin Thomas and Cousin Anne. 
What a strange household the two had consti¬ 
tuted in this old mansion, where their whole lives 
had been spent. As he thought of it, he felt he 
had an inkling of why Thomas Gilpin had done 
as he did. Perhaps he had felt it would be 
better to have a clean sweep, and thus make 
possible for some one a fresh beginning in the 
old place. A fine substantial house it was, need¬ 
ing only a few improvements to make of it, with 
its spacious, high-ceiled rooms and wide hall, a 
most desirable residence. 

Rosalind’s voice recalled him. “ May I come 
again this afternoon, Uncle Allan ? They may 
begin on the furniture.” 

The auction continued for three or four days. 


272 MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 

Rosalind became the proud possessor of the dol¬ 
phin bureau; and her uncle obtained also the 
miniature of Patricia, for what seemed indeed an 
extravagant sum, but he had given his promise 
to his sister. 

At the close of the sale on the second day, 
Allan went into the library to examine some 
books. The throng of onlookers and buyers 
had dispersed; only the auctioneer’s assistants 
remained at work in the hall. Purchases had 
been promptly removed, and the house already 
seemed dismantled and bare. 

Absorbed in his search for a volume not on 
the catalogue, but which he felt sure was some¬ 
where on the shelves, he became aware of Celia 
Fair’s voice just outside the door. The next 
moment she entered the library and, going to the 
fireplace, stooped to examine the andirons. She 
had not observed him. Should he go quietly 
out, or make one more appeal to be heard ? 
Allan hesitated. 

With her hand on the high mantel-shelf and 
her head against her hand, Celia stood looking 
down on the vacant hearth. There was some¬ 
thing of weariness in the attitude. What a deli- 


AT THE AUCTION. 


273 


cate bit of porcelain she seemed! Allan had a 
sudden, illogical vision of a fire of blazing logs, 
and himself and Celia sitting before it. 

He moved out of the shadow and she saw 
him; but though she stood erect and tense in a 
moment, she did not, as he expected, hasten from 
the room. Instead, she hesitated, and there was 
an appeal in her eyes very different from the 
defiance of a few weeks ago. 

“ I didn’t know there was any one here,” she 
said; adding, “ Mr. Whittredge, I have wanted to 
have an opportunity to say that I regret my 
rudeness. I was unreasonable — I am sorry.” 

The childishness of the speech went to Allan’s 
heart. He was conscious of keeping a very tight 
rein on himself as he answered, “ Do not say 
that. I can understand a little of what you 
must feel. But does it mean that I may speak 
now and tell you that only a few weeks ago I 
first learned the cruel, the unwarranted, charge 
against your father ? I had not understood 
before.” 

Celia lifted her hand as if to ward off a blow, 
but she did not speak. 

Allan continued, “ My silence must have seemed 


274 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


like a consent to it. And now, can we not meet, 
if only for a few minutes, on common ground ? 
Must we be enemies because — ” 

“Not enemies — oh, no,” Celia said, looking 
toward the door as if she wished to end the 
interview. 

“Then — you will think me very insistent — 
but there is something I must explain to you. 
First, won’t you let me give you a chair ? ” 

“Thank you, I’ll stand,” Celia answered; she 
moved, however, to a table and leaned against it. 

“It is about the ring. You perhaps remember 
the wording of the will? Before I left home to 
go abroad, so long ago, when I bade good-by to 
old Mr. Gilpin, he said to me, with that odd 
chuckle of his, ‘Allan, I want Celia to have the 
ring when I die.’ I replied that I hoped he 
would leave it to you in his will. Again, as I 
was leaving him, he called after me, ‘ Remember, 
Celia is to have the ring.’ It escaped my mind 
until I heard of the will, then of course I remem¬ 
bered. I think he had a feeling that if he left 
it to anybody it should be to a member of our 
family, and yet he wished you to have it. Now 
we both know what the old man had in mind; 


AT THE AUCTION. 


275 


but, although things have changed between us 
since then, the fact remains that the ring is 
yours.” Allan took the little worn case from his 
breast pocket and held it out. 

Celia looked at his extended hand, and shook 
her head. “ I cannot take it,” she said. 

“ But it does not belong to me; you must take it. 
You put me in an awkward position by refusing.” 

Celia's eyes flashed. “And how about my 
position if I should take it ? ” Has not all 
Friendship been speculating about the meaning 
of the Gilpin will ? Is not everybody wondering 
what you are going to do with it? What — ” 
She paused, clearly unable to keep her voice 
steady. 

She seemed about to hurry away when Allan 
intercepted her. “Forgive me — wait — just a 
moment. I see now. I was unpardonably stupid. 
I am not in the habit of considering what people 
say or may think, but I can see it would not 
do. I seem to be always annoying you,” he 
concluded helplessly. 

A faint smile dawned on Celia’s face. “ No 
one can help it; it is just an awkward situa¬ 
tion,” she said, and left him. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-FIFTH. 


QUESTIONS. 


“They asked one another the reason.” 

A LTHOUGH the auction was over, the air 
of Friendship still vibrated from the stir. 
Bereft of its treasures, the Gilpin house stood 
an empty shell, facing an unknown future; for 
beyond the statement that he was from Balti¬ 
more, nothing was known of its purchaser. 

“Why in the world should a man from Balti¬ 
more want it ? ” Mrs. Parton asked; and the 
question was echoed on all sides. Not to live 
in, at all events, it appeared, as weeks passed 
and it remained undisturbed. 

Nor was this the only unanswered question. 
There was the ring. Miss Betty said it might 
as well have been left in the spinet, for all the 
good it did any one. 

Allan had his own unanswered question; with¬ 
out doubt his mother had hers, as had Celia 
276 


QUESTIONS. 


2 77 

Fair, but they gave no sign to the outside world, 
nor asked any help in finding an answer. 

And now came a new excitement. Dr. Pierce, 
the Presbyterian minister, announced impres¬ 
sively one Sunday that on a week from that 
day his pulpit would be occupied by his dis¬ 
tinguished friend, Dr. Hollingsworth. 

It was explained that he had been South on 
business relating to a bequest to the university, 
and found it convenient to stop over on his way 
home. Still, with several large cities within 
easy reach, his presence was an undoubted com¬ 
pliment to the village, and Friendship began at 
once to refresh its memory in regard to its ex¬ 
pected guest. 

Mrs. Molesworth came across the street to 
ask Mrs. Parton if she had ever heard Dr. Hol¬ 
lingsworth was not orthodox. 

Mrs. Parton had not, and seemed to consider 
it a minor matter, for she went on to tell how 
pleasant he was, and how fully he appreciated 
the joke of being taken for a detective by Belle. 

“I trust, indeed, it is not true,” said Mrs. 
Molesworth, going back to the original question. 

“Well, I shouldn’t worry, Cornelia. He is 


278 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


not likely to do much harm in one sermon/’ 
Mrs. Parton answered easily. 

Mrs. Molesworth shook her head. “You can 
never be sure. It is not for myself I fear, but 
for the boys. I have tried to protect them.” 

“ If your boys are like mine, they won’t get any 
harm from a sermon. I do manage to drag them 
to church, but it is like taking a horse to water — 
it is another matter to make them listen.” 

Mrs. Molesworth returned home feeling that 
Mary Parton treated serious subjects with undue 
levity. Mrs. Parton, seeing Miss Betty Bishop 
approaching, lingered at the gate. 

“Well, Betty, I suppose you know we are to 
have Dr. Hollingsworth at our church Sunday.” 

She had heard it, but did not seem disposed 
to enlarge upon it, as was her custom with a 
piece of news. 

“ Cornelia Molesworth is worrying because she 
has heard he is not orthodox.” 

“ She is not obliged to hear him, is she ? No¬ 
body can amount to anything nowadays without 
being accused of heresy; however, I fancy Dr. 
Hollingsworth can bear up under Mrs. Moles- 
worth’s disapproval.” 


QUESTIONS. 


279 


Mrs. Parton surveyed Miss Betty with a twinkle 
in her eye. “ I declare, Betty,” she remarked, 
irrelevantly, “you are growing younger. You 
look nearer twenty than forty this minute.” 

“ Perhaps it is my new hat,” Miss Betty sug¬ 
gested ; but surely she had passed the age when 
one flushes over the possession of a becoming 
hat. 

Mrs. Parton laughed to herself as she went 
back to the house. “ Do you suppose that is 
why he is coming ? Goodness! I wish the 
colonel was here.” 

The news was discussed all over town that 
Monday morning. 

“What brings Dr. Hollingsworth here?” Dr. 
Barnes asked, meeting Colonel Parton in the 
bank. “ He is a friend of the Whittredges, I 
understand. Anyway, it is a compliment to 
Friendship.” 

“ Friendship is a great place. He liked our 
looks when he was here a month or so ago,” 
and the colonel laughed his easy laugh. 

“ More than likely he thinks we need a little 
stirring up,” Mr. Roberts remarked from his 
desk. 


280 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


“ Did you hear the joke on my Belle ? ” the 
colonel asked, and proceeded to relate the story 
of the supposed detective and the photograph. 

The Arden Foresters in their turn talked it 
over that afternoon, sitting in a row near the 
red oak, which lavished badges of crimson and 
gold upon them now. The October air was 
delicious. They had raced up the hill and down 
to the landing and back again, for pure joy of 
moving in the sparkling atmosphere. 

“ I have something to tell you,” Rosalind an¬ 
nounced. ‘‘You must all come to church next 
Sunday, for our president is going to preach.” 

“Is that what you have to tell ? because I knew 
it already,” said Belle, whose cheeks matched 
the oak leaf she was pinning on her jacket. 

“ No, it is something even better than that. 
I have a letter to read to you.” As she spoke, 
Rosalind tossed a handful of leaves at Maurice. 

“That’s right, wake the professor up,” cried 
Jack, following her example. 

“Or bury him,” said Belle, joining the on¬ 
slaught. 

Maurice, who had been gazing rather absently 
into the distance, was aroused to defend himself, 


QUESTIONS. 


281 

and the battle resolved itself into a hand-to-hand 
combat between the two boys. 

Maurice’s crutch had been discarded, and his 
knee was almost as strong as ever, although 
rough sports, such as foot-ball, were still denied 
him. He had recently arrived at the dignity of 
long trousers, being tall for his age, and Jack 
had immediately nicknamed him “the professor.” 

“Now, boys, that is enough,” Rosalind said, 
with decision; “ Maurice is waked up, I think.” 

“ Am I awake, or not ? ” Maurice demanded 
of the struggling Jack, as he held him down 
and sat upon him. 

“Mercy, yes!” Jack cried, freeing himself 
with a mighty effort. “ But you must smile; I 
can’t have you looking so melancholy. Smile ! ” 

In spite of himself Maurice obeyed the com¬ 
mand. 

“That’s right; now sit down and behave,” 
Jack added, laughing. 

Rosalind took out her letter. “ Listen,” she 
said: — 


“ My Dear Rosalind : I am coming back to 
Friendship in a few days, and I want to ask if 


282 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


the Arden Foresters will admit a new member 
to their circle ? I am greatly interested in what 
I have heard of it. I have been travelling in 
the Forest for a good many years, with just an 
occasional lapse into the desert, but I should 
like the right to wear an oak leaf and have my 
name in the Arden Foresters’ book, on the 
page with the magician’s. 

“ Hoping that this is not asking too much, 
I am 

“ Yours affectionately, 

“ Charles W. Hollingsworth.” 

“ Isn’t that dear of him ? ” 

“ Does he mean it really ? ” asked Maurice. 

“What is the matter with you, Maurice? Of 
course he does,” cried Belle. “ He is grand! 
The detective,” and she laughed at the recollec¬ 
tion. 

“ Rosalind is going home before long, and I 
didn’t know whether we would keep it up,” 
Maurice said. 

“ But I shall come back again next summer, 
and, — oh, I hope we aren’t going to give it up ! ” 
Rosalind looked anxiously at her companions. 


QUESTIONS. 


283 


“ Never ! ” cried Belle. 

“No indeed,” said Jack. “I am an Arden 
Forester forever.” 

“A monkey forever,” growled Maurice. 

“ That is better than a bear, anyway,” retorted 
Jack. 

“ Maurice reminds me of the day I first talked 
to him through the hedge,” Rosalind remarked, 
smiling at him. 

Maurice laughed. “ I was pretty cross that 
day. I don’t mean that I want to give the society 
up, only we can’t meet here much longer, and it 
seems as if our fun was nearly over.” 

“ It will soon be too cold to have our meetings 
out of doors; let’s ask the magician if we can’t 
meet there,” Belle proposed. 

“ What fun! I almost wish I wasn’t going 
home. You must all write to me about what you 
do,” said Rosalind. 

“ We shall miss you dreadfully,” Belle said, 
looking pensive for a moment. 

“ But she hasn’t gone yet, so what is the use 
of thinking about something that is going to 
happen, when you are having a pretty good time 
now?” asked Jack, philosophically. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-SIXTH. 

THE PRESIDENT. 

"—And good in everything.” 

F RIENDSHIP was without doubt a church¬ 
going community,—the different denomina¬ 
tions could all boast of creditable congregations on 
Sunday mornings, — but on the occasion of Dr. 
Hollingsworth’s visit, the other churches had a 
mere handful to divide between them, while at the 
Presbyterian church chairs had to be placed in the 
aisles. Such an unusual event afforded a pleas¬ 
ing variety in the customary Sabbath monotony. 
Something of a festive air pervaded the assembly. 

Celia Fair and Miss Betty Bishop, both de¬ 
serters from the Episcopal church, chanced to be 
seated together. Rosalind’s urgent invitation to 
come and hear our president preach, had brought 
Celia, and it was, of course, for old friendship’s 
sake that Miss Betty was there. 

“ Isn’t that Mrs. Whittredge ? ” she whispered 
284 


THE PRESIDENT. 285 

to Celia, as Allan with his mother and Rosalind 
passed up the aisle. “ I don’t know when she 
has been at church before.” Then at sight of 
Mrs. Molesworth Miss Betty gave a slight shrug. 

A flutter of interested anticipation was noticeable 
when Dr. Pierce entered the pulpit accompanied 
by the stranger, and it must be confessed that 
the service preceding the sermon was gone 
through with perfunctorily by the greater part 
of the congregation. After the notices for the 
week had been given, there was a general settling 
back and recalling of wandering attention as Dr. 
Hollingsworth came forward and stood in the 
pastor’s place at the desk. 

Mrs. Molesworth twisted her neck in an en¬ 
deavor to see if he had notes; Colonel Parton 
decided promptly that here was no orator; Belle 
smiled at Rosalind across the aisle, thinking of 
the detective. 

In the president’s gaze, as it rested upon the 
assembly, was the same genial kindliness that 
had attracted Belle when she first met him on 
Main Street. It seemed to draw his audience 
closer to him, to make of it a circle of friends. 
His manner was simple, his tone almost conver- 


286 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


sational. At the announcement of his text Celia 
leaned forward with a sudden conviction that 
here was a message for her: — 

“ It is the Father’s good pleasure to give you 
the Kingdom.” 

Varied were the opinions afterward expressed 
of the sermon that followed. What Celia car¬ 
ried away with her was something like this: — 

“ I shall speak to you this morning,” he said, 
“upon a subject that touches each one of us 
very nearly, from the oldest to the youngest; 
for whatever our circumstances, whether we are 
rich or poor, learned or simple, whether our lot 
is cast in protected homes or in the midst of the 
world’s great battle-field, our task is one and the 
same: to become citizens of the Kingdom of 
God. This being so, we cannot think too often 
or too much about this Kingdom, or inquire too 
minutely into its laws, or ask ourselves too 
earnestly why it is that so few of us accept the 
gift in anything like its fulness. 

“ Although it is offered as a gift, there are con¬ 
ditions to be fulfilled, difficulties to be overcome. 
Our Lord recognized this when He said that the 
gate was strait and the way narrow, but He also 


THE PRESIDENT. 


287 


said that this Kingdom was worth any price, or 
was beyond all price, to be obtained at any sacri¬ 
fice. He emphasized this by a strong figure. It 
was better to enter into life maimed, He said,— 
with hand or foot cut off — rather than to miss 
life altogether. . . . The conditions of entrance 
into the Kingdom are apparently so simple it is 
strange we find them so difficult. I think they 
may be sifted down to two : love and faith, — the 
love from which service springs, the faith that 
means joy and peace. If we are to be the 
children of our Heavenly Father we must love, 
and we must have in our hearts that joy which 
grows out of trust. 

“Jesus said, ‘Seek first the Kingdom of God/ 
If we do this we need concern ourselves with 
nothing else, and by concern I mean burden 
ourselves. The daily round — the vast machinery 
of life — must go on, but after all only he who be¬ 
longs to the Kingdom is fitted to meet its problems. 
He brings to them a calm confidence, a clear 
vision. His heart does not beat quick with 
hate or envy. His energy is not weakened by 
worry. His sight is not dimmed by doubt . . . 
Perhaps some of you are saying — what is so 


288 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


often said — that it is easy to preach; and you 
ask how one can cease to worry when the path 
is dark before him; how one can look upon the 
terrible problems of sin and suffering, and not 
feel their crushing weight. If what I am saying 
this morning were simply what I think about it, 
you are right to doubt. But these are not my 
words. Can you believe that our Lord when He 
told His disciples to seek the Kingdom and all 
other needful things would be added, was simply 
giving utterance to a beautiful but impracticable 
theory? For my part, I cannot. 

“ I would ask you to notice that Jesus founded 
all he has to say on one great fact: the love 
of your Heavenly Father for you individually. 
Are you struggling with poverty, perhaps ? Your 
Heavenly Father knoweth. Try, if but for a 
day, to put aside your anxiety and fix your 
thought on this. The things you need shall 
be given, and you shall find strength for another 
day of trust. 

“ Have you been wronged ? do you find it hard 
to forgive? are you bitter? Your Heavenly 
Father knoweth. He will take care of your 
cause. Leave it to Him; do not be afraid to 


THE PRESIDENT. 289 

forget it. Seek, ask, knock, that you may obtain 
entrance into the Kingdom of love. 

“ Are you crushed by sorrow or physical pain ? 
Your Father knoweth. Cease to fight against it. 
Come into His Kingdom. Suffering endures but 
a little while; and if you will have it so, out of 
it will come a diviner joy. 

“Is the world full of dark problems ? Your 
Heavenly Father knoweth. It is His world. Your 
part is to do, not to despair. 

“Are you full of youth and hope and glad 
anticipation ? Your Father knoweth. He made 
you so, and in a special sense the Kingdom 
belongs to you. The simple-hearted, the teach¬ 
able, the joyous, — of such is the Kingdom. Enter 
in, and immortal youth shall be yours. . . . Oh, 
if I might help you to know the beauty, the 
joy, the peace of the Kingdom into which we 
may enter now and here, if we will. Yet we 
go on our way, oppressed by care, warped by 
envy and hate, our eyes blinded by what we 
call worldly wisdom.” 

Something like this was what came to Celia; and 
as she listened, forgetful of her surroundings, it 
linked itself in her thought to the Forest secret. 


u 


290 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


It was not so much the words as the aspirations 
they stirred, — the new belief in the possibility 
of high and joyous living, the new courage that 
thrilled in her veins. She was still under the spell 
when after the benediction Miss Betty asked, with 
a certain timidity, if she had liked the sermon. 

Celia looked at her blankly for a second before 
she replied, “ Oh, so much! It was beautiful. 
I should like to know him.” She turned away 
with a smile; she was not ready to discuss it 
yet. She wanted to think. 

“He held my attention, I grant, but I don’t 
call it a sermon; it was too elementary, — it was 
nothing but a talk,” she heard Mrs. Molesworth 
saying. 

“If it wasn’t a sermon, it was something better,” 
answered cheery Mrs. Parton. 

“ Most magnetic speaker,” the colonel was 
remarking to some one. 

And now Rosalind and Belle claimed Celia’s 
attention, demanding to know what she thought 
of the detective; and she must come back to 
earth and listen and reply and enter into their 
gayety — an easier matter, to be sure, than 
responding to the comments of grown people. 


THE PRESIDENT. 


291 


The next morning, on her way to class, Celia 
met Miss Betty and Dr. Hollingsworth walking 
up the hill toward the Gilpin house, and Miss 
Betty stopped and presented her companion. 

After some moments’ chat about other things, 
as they were separating, Celia said, “ I want to 
thank you, Dr. Hollingsworth, for my share of 
your sermon yesterday.” Her face made it evi¬ 
dent that this was no merely conventional speech, 
and the president looked down upon her benignly 
through his glasses. 

“ I thank you for being willing to take any 
of my thoughts to yourself,” he said. 

Celia now noticed for the first time that he wore 
an oak leaf, and she remembered with what de¬ 
light Rosalind and Belle had told her of his wish 
to be an Arden Forester. “ I believe,” she added, 
laughing a little, “that I have the Kingdom of 
Heaven and the Forest somewhat mixed.” 

“You will find when you have lived as long 
as I have that there are often many names for 
the same thing,” the president answered, smiling. 

“And do you believe that things always come 
right in the Forest?” The wistful note in 
Celia’s voice told something of her struggle. 


292 MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 

“It has been my experience so far on the 
journey. But, my dear young lady, the one way 
to test it is to live there.” 

“ I mean to,” she said earnestly. 

Whatever the opinion in Friendship of Dr. Hol¬ 
lingsworth’s ability as a preacher, he left behind 
him a most agreeable impression as a mere man, 
to quote Mrs. Par ton. 

The Arden Foresters would not soon forget 
a tramp with him over Red Hill. They found 
him interested in everything, in a light-hearted, 
boyish way that made them overlook the fact 
that he was the president of a great university. 
When they stopped on the hilltop to rest and 
enjoy the view, he sat on the fence with them 
and talked foot-ball and cricket, and told stories 
of college pranks without deducing a single 
useful lesson therefrom. This was a surprise 
to Jack, for Dr. Pierce, who lived next door to 
the Partons, was fond of morals, and went about 
with his pockets full, so to speak. 

Before they knew it, they found themselves con¬ 
fiding to him their plans for the future. 

“You must all come to our university,” Rosa¬ 
lind said, with decision, “mustn’t they, Dr. Hollings- 


THE PRESIDENT. 


293 


worth ? Jack can study forestry, and Maurice can 
study law; and Belle and Katherine—” 

“ I mean to study medicine if father will let 
me,” Belle put in. 

Dr. Hollingsworth smiled upon the bright-eyed 
little girl, in whose every movement self-reliance 
and energy were written. “ Don’t be in haste to 
decide,” he said. “ There is sure to be something 
for you to do, and Rosalind and I shall be glad if, 
whatever it is, it brings you to our university.” 

As they watched the president sign his name in 
the Arden Foresters’ book that afternoon, there 
was stirred in each young heart an impulse to be 
and to do something worth while in the world. 

Meantime, the report spread that in returning to 
Friendship, Dr. Hollingsworth had had another 
object than merely to preach for Dr. Pierce. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVENTH. 

OLD ENEMIES. 

“ Kindness nobler ever than revenge.” 

I F things came right in the Forest, it was not 
through effort. One had simply to surrender 
to its spell, to breathe in the beauty and the 
calm, to live there, as the president had said. 

Celia’s thoughts were interrupted by Sally’s 
hurried entrance. 

“ Laws a mercy! Miss Celia, honey, Mrs. 
Whittredge’s in the parlor. I come mighty nigh 
askin’ her what she wanted in dis yere house.” 

Celia looked up in astonishment. Mrs. Whit- 
tredge! What could it mean ? “ And she asked 

for me ? ” she repeated. 

“ I done tol’ her your mamma was sick, but she 
’lowed ’twas you she wanted.” 

Celia recovered herself. “Very well, Sally,” she 
said, but it was with a beating heart she walked the 
length of the hall. Her enemy! What did it mean ? 


294 


OLD ENEMIES. 


295 


Mrs. Whittredge, her heavy veil thrown back a 
little, stood beside the table in the centre of the 
room. 

“You are surprised, Celia,” she said, as they 
faced each other, “but there is something I wish 
to say to you. No, I will stand, thank you.” 

Celia waited, feeling, even in the midst of a 
tumult of emotion, the tragic beauty of the dark 
eyes. 

Mrs. Whittredge seemed to find words difficult. 
She looked down at the table on which her right 
hand rested. “ I have made many mistakes,” she 
began, “ but — I have never meant to wrong any 
one. At the time of my husband’s illness I — 
there were things said — I did not agree with Dr. 
Fair, and I may have gone too far. It is my mis¬ 
fortune to be intense. I was very unhappy. I 
thought the case was not understood. It was my 
mistake.” She paused. 

“ And my father died, crushed by the knowledge 
that he was unjustly blamed for the death of his 
friend ! The discovery of your mistake comes too 
late.” Celia’s voice was tense with the stored up 
pain of those two years. 

Mrs. Whittredge drew back. “You are hard,” 


296 MR. PATS -LITTLE GIRL. 

she said. “We look at things from different 
standpoints. I have told you I wish to wrong 
no one, but — ah, your father was cruel — cruel 
to me! ” 

“ My father was never cruel,” Celia cried. 

“ Listen ! He told me I was killing my hus¬ 
band. I, who worshipped him. I, who — God 
knows — would have given my life to —” she 
broke off in a passion of grief, sinking into a chair 
and burying her face in her hands. 

Celia stood abashed and trembling before this 
revelation of a sorrow deeper than her own,— 
the sorrow of self accusation and unavailing 
regret. 

“ Have you been wronged, are you hard 
and bitter? Seek the Kingdom of love. Your 
Heavenly Father knoweth. He will take care 
of your cause.” For a moment Celia struggled 
against the wave of pity that was sweeping 
over her, then forgetting everything but the 
suffering of this woman bowed before her, she 
knelt by her side. 

“ Forgive me,” she whispered. “ I do not 
want to be hard. I, too, have suffered, though 
not like you. Perhaps we wronged the dead by 


OLD ENEMIES. 


297 


keeping bitterness in our hearts. Perhaps to 
them it is all made right now. I will forgive; 
I will try to forget.” 

Mrs. Whittredge lifted her head. Her face 
was drawn and white. 

“ I cannot forget,” she said; “ it is my misery. 
But I have no wish to make other lives as un¬ 
happy as my own. Will you believe me when I 
say I regret the wrong I did, and that I want 
to interfere with no one’s happiness hereafter ? ” 

“ I will believe it,” Celia said, holding out her 
hand. 

Mrs. Whittredge did not refuse it; but her 
own was very cold in Celia’s clasp. Drawing 
her veil over her face, without another word she 
left the house. 

Celia sat still, dazed by the sudden onward 
sweep of things. A meaning, a possible motive, 
beneath Mrs. Whittredge’s words occurred to her 
as her heart began to beat more quietly. “To 
interfere with no one’s happiness hereafter.” 
Could Allan — but no, she would not let herself 
think it. She would stay in the Forest, and work 
and wait, and trust in its beneficent spell. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHTH. 


BETTER THAN DREAMS. 

“ I like this place, 

And willingly could waste my time in it.” 

HE engagement of Miss Betty Bishop and 



-L Dr. Hollingsworth was announced. As 
Miss Betty said, there was no use in trying to 
keep it a secret with Mrs. Parton spreading her 
suspicions abroad. 

“ If you had confided in me and asked me 
not to tell, I shouldn’t have breathed it,” that 
lady protested. 

“ Oh, yes, you would,” Miss Betty said, laughing. 
“You know you tell everything; but, after all, 
there’s no harm done, and no reason why it 
should not be known. I don’t blame people for 
being surprised, either. I am surprised myself, 
and I see the absurdity, but — ” 

“There is no absurdity about it. I am de¬ 
lighted. Dr. Hollingsworth is charming. I’d be 


BETTER THAN DREAMS. 


299 


willing to marry him myself if it wasn’t for the 
colonel, and you are going to be as happy as 
happy can be.” Mrs. Parton laughed her pleas¬ 
ant laugh, clearly overjoyed at what seemed to 
her the good fortune of her friend. 

Rosalind first heard the news from Belle. 
“Why,” she said, “if he marries Cousin Betty, 
the president will be related to me.” 

“Let’s frame Dr. Hollingsworth’s picture and 
give it to her,” Maurice suggested. 

This was hailed as a brilliant idea, and that 
afternoon the five might have been seen in the 
picture store in search of a frame for the 
stolen photograph. It was an excellent likeness 
of the president, and an equally good one of 
black Bob, who, happening to pass at the critical 
moment, had been included unintentionally. 

The proprietor of the store, getting an inkling 
of the joke, hunted up a small frame which, 
with the help of a mat, answered very well. 
Then the Arden Foresters proceeded to Miss 
Betty’s, where they delivered the package into 
Sophy’s hands and scampered away, their cour¬ 
age not being equal to an encounter with her 
mistress. 


300 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


At the bank gate they separated, Belle going 
in with Katherine to practise a duet they were 
learning, and Jack hurrying home with the fear 
of his Latin lesson before his eyes. Maurice 
walked on with Rosalind. 

“ Come in for a while,” she said. 

The air was crisp, but the sunshine was bright, 
and the bench under the bare branches of the 
white birch seemed more inviting than indoors. 
As they took their seat there, Rosalind said 
gayly, “ Father will be here this week. We are 
not sure what day.” 

“And then you will have to go,” Maurice 
added discontentedly. 

“Yes, and I am partly sorry and partly glad. I 
am so glad I came to Friendship, Maurice. Just 
think how many friends I have made! ” 

“How long ago it seems — that day when 
you spoke to me through the hedge. You 
must have thought I was a dreadful muff,” said 
Maurice. 

Rosalind laughed. “ I thought you were 
cross.” 

“ I was in a horrid temper, but I didn’t know 
how horrid until you told me the story and I 


BETTER THAN DREAMS. 


301 


read in the book what your cousin wrote about 
bearing hard things bravely. I suppose if it 
had not been for you, I should have gone on 
being a beast.” 

“I was feeling pretty cross myself that day. 
I didn’t know then what a pleasant place 
Friendship is. I think I have found a great 
deal of joy by the way, as Cousin Louis said,” 
Rosalind continued meditatively. 

“And I thought my summer was spoiled,” 
Maurice added. 

“ It just shows you can never tell,” Rosalind 
concluded wisely. 

“Are you sure you won’t forget us when you 
go away ? ” Maurice wanted to say “ me,” instead 
of “us,” but a sudden shyness prevented. 

“Why, Maurice, I couldn’t! Especially you; 
for you were my first friend.” The gray eyes 
looked into his frankly and happily. 

After Maurice had gone, Rosalind still sat 
there in the wintry sunshine. Things seemed 
very quiet just now, with Uncle Allan away for 
a week and Aunt Genevieve not yet returned. 
She and her grandmother were keeping each 
other company, and becoming better acquainted 


302 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


than ever before. Mrs. Whittredge’s glance 
often rested upon her granddaughter with a 
sort of wistful affection, and once, when their 
eyes met, Rosalind, with a quick impulse, had 
gone to her side and put her arms around her. 
Mrs. Whittredge returned the caress, saying, “ I 
shall be sorry to give you up, dearie.” 

On another occasion Rosalind had told how 
surprised she had been to find that her grand¬ 
mother did not wear caps and do knitting work. 
“ But I like you a great deal better as you 
are,” she added. 

Mrs. Whittredge smiled. “ I fear I am in 
every way far from being an ideal grand¬ 
mother,” she said. 

Rosalind thought of all this, her eyes on the 
dismantled garden. The flower beds were bare, 
the shrubs done up in straw, the fountain dry, 
and yet something recalled the summer day 
when she had sat just here learning her hymn. 
She remembered her old dreams of Friendship, 
and now she decided that the reality was best. 
She shut her eyes and tried to think just how 
she had felt that Sunday afternoon. 

“ What is the matter, little girl ? ” The magi- 


BETTER THAN DREAMS. 


303 

cian’s words, but not his voice; nor was it his 
face she looked into. 

“Father!” she cried, — “you dear! Where 
did you come from ? ” 

It was some time before any connected con¬ 
versation was possible. 

“ Why, father, how brown you are! ” 

“And Rosalind, how tall you are, and how 
rosy! To think I have lost six months of your 
life! ” 

“And I want to tell you everything just in 
one minute. What shall I do ? ” Rosalind said, 
laughing, as she held him fast. 

It did indeed seem a task of alarming propor¬ 
tions to tell all there was to tell; Rosalind felt a 
little impatient at having to share her father 
with her grandmother that evening. And there 
was almost as much to hear, — of Cousin Louis, 
whose health was now restored, but who was to 
spend some months in England, of their adven¬ 
tures, and the sights they had seen. 

“ We shall want something to talk about when 
we get home,” she was reminded. 

It would have been plain to the least observant 
that Patterson Whittredge’s life was bound up 


304 MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 

with that of this little daughter. As he talked 
to his mother, his eyes rested fondly on 
Rosalind, and every subject led back to her 
at last. 

Rosalind, looking from her father to her grand¬ 
mother, noted how much alike were their dark 
eyes, but here the resemblance ended. Mrs. Whit- 
tredge’s oldest son, although he might possess 
something of her strong will, had nothing of 
her haughty reserve. His manner, in spite of 
the preoccupation of the student, was one 
of winning cordiality. Older and graver than 
Allan, there was yet a strong likeness between 
the brothers. 

Rosalind could not rest until she had taken 
her father to all the historic spots, as she 
merrily called them, — Red Hill, the Gilpin 
place, the cemetery, and the magician’s shop, 
of course. 

“ Friendship has been good for you, little 
girl,” he said, as they set out for a walk next 
day. 

“ I used to think that stories were better than 
real things, father, but it isn’t so in Friendship. 
At first I was — oh, so lonely; I thought I never 


BETTER THAN DREAMS. 305 

could be the least bit happy without you and 
Cousin Louis; but the magician and the Forest 
helped me, and since then I have had a beauti¬ 
ful time. I love Friendship. I almost wish we 
could live here.” 

“ And desert Cousin Louis and the univer- 
' sity ? ” 

“ No, I suppose not; but we can come back 
in the summer, can’t we ? And, oh, father dear, 
you’ll join the Arden Foresters, won’t you ? ” 

As they walked up the winding road at the 
cemetery, Mr. Whittredge heard something of 
those puzzles which had so disturbed Rosalind’s 
first weeks in Friendship, beginning with the story 
of the rose. 

“ It’s funny, father, but I hadn’t thought till 
then that grown people had quarrels. I might 
have known it from the story of the Forest; I 
remembered that afterward, and how things all 
came right.” 

“ Poor little girl! You should have been 
warned; and yet in spite of it you have learned 
that realities are better than dreams.” 

“ Father,” Rosalind asked abruptly, “ why 
was it you did not come to Friendship for so 


x 


30 6 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


many years ? Did not grandmamma like my 
mother? I think I ought to know.” 

Mr. Whittredge smiled at the womanly serious¬ 
ness of the lifted face. “ I think you ought, 
dear,” he answered. 

With her hand clasped in his he told her the 
story briefly, for even now he could not dwell 
upon it without pain, and as Rosalind listened 
she discovered that she had already heard a bit 
of it from Mrs. Parton and Mrs. Molesworth at 
the auction. 

“We must try, you and I, not to think too 
hardly of grandmamma now. She has suffered 
a great deal, and it was your mother’s earnest 
wish that the trouble might be healed if the op¬ 
portunity ever came.” Patterson said nothing 
of his own struggle to forgive his mother’s atti¬ 
tude toward his young wife. 

“ I think, father,” Rosalind said, “ that per¬ 
haps grandmamma is sorry. One day, not long 
ago, I saw her looking at mother’s picture. She 
did not know I was there. She took it from the 
table and held it in her hand, and I am sure 
she was crying a little.” 

That was a happy day, for now they put aside 


BETTER THAN DREAMS. 307 

sad memories, and turned to the merry side of 
life. Rosalind kept forgetting that her father 
had been in Friendship before, and continued 
to point out objects of interest with which he 
had been familiar long before she was born. 
So full were the hours that it was growing 
dusk when they turned into Church Lane to 
call on the magician. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-NINTH. 


AT THE MAGICIAN’S. 

“ I would have you.” 

O VER his work these days the magician 
often smiled. It seemed to him that the 
good in things was beginning to show very 
plainly. The atmosphere of Friendship was 
clearing; the trouble which had first shown it¬ 
self when Patterson Whittredge left his home 
had begun to lift with the coming of his daugh¬ 
ter. Not that Rosalind had anything to do with 
it; it was only one of those bits of poetical 
justice that go to make life interesting. 

An onlooker might have observed that he 
smiled oftener when engaged on the spinet than 
at other times; but if the magician had made 
any more discoveries in connection with it, he 
kept them to himself. 

Now that the days were growing chill, a cheer¬ 
ful fire blazed on his hearth, before which Criss- 
308 


AT THE MAGICIAN’S. 


309 


cross and Curly Q. dozed; he had found time 
to renew the motto over the chimney-piece, and 
the window-shelf was full of plants. The Arden 
Foresters appeared to regard the place as a club- 
room for their special benefit, and dropped in at 
all hours. The magician liked to have them 
there. As he sandpapered and oiled and pol¬ 
ished, it was pleasant to glance in, now and 
then, at the open door, at a row of bright faces 
in the chimney-corner. 

Once in a while Celia joined them for a few 
minutes. She wanted to know about the pur¬ 
chaser of the spinet, but Morgan seemed in¬ 
clined to evade her questions. He did not deny 
that there was a purchaser, but the name had 
apparently escaped him. 

Belle suggested that it might be the same 
mysterious individual who had bought the house, 
and Morgan accepted this as a happy solution 
when it was mentioned to him. 

The cabinet-maker was a very queer person 
at times. 

Celia sat in one corner of the high-backed 
settle alone this afternoon. Belle, who had 
come in with the news of the arrival of Rosa- 


3io 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


lind’s father the evening before, had just gone, 
and Celia, who had spent a busy morning, was 
reflecting that it was too late to begin a new 
task, and that she might as well allow herself 
to rest. Of late she had taken life more quietly. 

“ Morgan seems to have gone out. May I 
come in ? ” It was Allan Whittredge who spoke, 
standing in the door. 

“ He was there a moment ago,” Celia answered, 
rising. 

“May I wait for him here ? You agreed we 
were not to be enemies; can’t we go a step 
farther, and be friends ? ” 

Celia found no reply to this, but she sat down 
again. 

Allan took the arm-chair and faced her. “ I 
seem to be always forcing myself on you, but 
I’ll promise you this is the last time,” he said. 

Still Celia had nothing to say, but she allowed 
him a glance of her dark eyes which was not 
discouraging. 

Allan went on: “I am so tired of mistakes 
and misunderstandings that, before the subject 
is closed forever between us, I want you to 
know the exact truth in regard to my feelings. 


AT THE MAGICIAN’S. 


31 1 

“ When I received your letter putting an end 
to things, at first I was hurt and angry, and I 
tried to persuade myself that it was for the best 
after all. You see, I did not know your side, 
and you will forgive me if I confess I thought 
you childish and lacking in deep feeling. Then, 
two years later, I saw you with the children, 
coming down the stairs at the Gilpin house, and 
something made me feel dimly that I had wronged 
you; but still I could not understand, until some 
words of Cousin Betty’s suddenly made it clear. 
It was maddening to think what my long silence 
must have seemed to mean to you. Then, for 
the first time, I saw the real barrier between us, 
and the more I thought of it, the more impene¬ 
trable it became. 

“ But it is hard for me to give up. I have 
looked at it on all sides; I went away that I 
might think more clearly about it, and of late 
I have begun to hope. I believe that love 
worthy of the name lives on in spite of every¬ 
thing, and I have dared to wonder if your love 
could have weathered this storm; if you still 
cared, though it might be only enough to give 
me the chance to win you again.” Allan bent 


312 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


forward in his earnestness, his eyes fixed appeal¬ 
ingly upon the small, still figure in the corner 
of the settle. 

“ Do you not care at all, Celia ? ” he asked, 
after a moment’s silence. 

Celia lifted her eyes. “Care?” she cried, “I 
have always cared,—through everything! When 
I thought you knew and believed the cruel charge 
against my father; when I knew his heart was 
broken; when he was dead, — when I wanted to 
hate you, still I cared. Have you cared like 
that ? ” 

This vehement confession, with its note of de¬ 
fiance, was bewildering. Allan hesitated before 
this unapproachable, tempestuous Celia. Then 
he drew his chair nearer. “ Celia, dear heart, do 
not speak so; I have not been tried like you, 
but give me the chance and see how I will atone 
for the past.” 

Suddenly Celia held out her hand; “ Oh, Allan, 
I am so very bad-tempered. I seem always de¬ 
termined to quarrel,” she said, with a laugh that 
was half a sob. 

This was enough, the strain was broken; Allan 
forsook the arm-chair for the settle. 


AT THE MAGICIAN’S. 


313 


It was perhaps some fifteen minutes later when 
he asked Celia if she remembered the magician, 
and the tiger with three white whiskers. “ What 
a brave little girl you were,” he added. 

“ Little goose,” said Celia. 

“ Does that mean you will no longer follow me 
blindly ? ” 

She laughed. “What made you think of it?” 
she asked. 

“ Rosalind inquired the other day if I was the 
boy.” 

“Allan, I don’t know why I told the children 
that story.” 

“At least it gave me the courage to try my 
fate.” 

“ I don’t think it required much courage.” 

“You don’t know,” Allan replied, smiling over 
her head. “ But now, dearest, we are going to 
begin again and live in a fairy tale and forget 
all the hard and cruel things. Do you know, I 
had a vision that day, in the library of the old 
house ? I saw a fire of blazing logs, and you 
and I sat before it, and we weren’t quarrelling.” 

“ Dear old house! I can’t bear to look at it 
now,” Celia sighed. 


314 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


“ I am sorry to hear that, for I was planning 
to live there.” 

“ Allan — you ? Wasn’t it sold ? ” 

“I bought it through an agent. I thought 
perhaps I might want to sell again if — if things 
did not come out as I hoped.” 

“ Even then you were thinking about it ? ” 

“ I have thought of nothing else since the day 
I saw you on the stairs with your arm around 
Belle.” 

“ How unhappy I was! I did not dream that 
you still cared. It seems so long ago. Did you 
know your mother came to see me, Allan?” 

“Yes. She has keen eyes; she knew what it 
meant to me. Poor mother! ” 

“ I thought I could never forgive, but I be¬ 
lieve I do now, — not always,—but I shall after 
a while.” 

Allan pressed his lips to the hand he held; 
then, still holding it, he took the little case from 
his pocket and put the sapphire ring on her 
finger. “ I hope Cousin Betty will be satisfied 
now,” he remarked. 

Celia looked down at the quaint old ring. 
“ How much it seems to stand for! ” she said. 


AT THE MAGICIAN’S. 


315 


“Rosalind will be glad,” she added. “Do you 
know, I did not realize how bitter and unhappy 
I was until I met her one day in the cemetery. 
Her eyes were so sweet, they made me ashamed.” 

“ She told me about it,” Allan answered. 

“ Not about the rose ? Did she see that? Oh, 
Allan — but I picked it up again and carried it 
home.” 

“ She long since came to the conclusion that 
she was mistaken in thinking it was her rose 
you threw away.” 

It was growing dark. The magician, who had 
come in long ago, wisely refrained from inter¬ 
rupting his guests, but went about putting away 
his tools and smiling to himself. He was just 
lighting his lamp, when the shop door opened 
and Rosalind danced in, followed by her father. 

“ Mr. Pat! ” exclaimed the magician. “ I 
heard you were here. I wondered if you wouldn’t 
come to see me; ” and he shook hands as if he 
would never stop, while Rosalind circled around 
them merrily. 

“ Mr. Pat was one of my boys,” Morgan an¬ 
nounced, as if it were a piece of news; adding, 
“We ought to make some tea.” 


316 MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 

Rosalind clapped her hands, and nodded em¬ 
phatically, “Let’s!” she cried. “Why, there’s 
Uncle Allan! Where did you come from ? ” 

“ I arrived at home a few hours ago and 
found nobody, so I started out in search of 
some one. How are you, Patterson?” and the 
brothers clasped hands warmly. 

“We are going to have tea, just as I did that 
day when I was so lonely, and — here’s Miss 
Celia! ” Rosalind paused in surprise. 

Celia stood rather shyly in the door. She 
would gladly have escaped if she could. 

At Rosalind’s exclamation, Allan drew his 
brother forward. “You remember Celia Fair, 
Patterson ? ” her said. 

“Certainly I do. She was about Rosalind’s 
age when I last saw her.” 

“ I remember you very well, Mr. Whittredge,” 
Celia said, as Patterson took both her hands, 
and looked into her glowing face. 

“I haven’t been told anything, but — ” he 
glanced inquiringly at Allan, who nodded, smiling. 

Rosalind caught sight of the ring on Celia’s 
finger. “Oh,” she said, “was that what the will 
meant? Are you going to wear it always? I 


AT THE MAGICIAN’S. 317 

know Aunt Patricia would be glad! ” and she 
hugged Celia joyfully. 

That what followed was a childish performance 
cannot be denied, but alas for those who do not 
sometimes enjoy putting away grown-up dignity! 
Rosalind had set her heart on having tea, and 
the magician was no less pleased at the idea. 
He lighted up and filled the kettle, and she 
set the table, while the others looked on and 
laughed. 

“ I began being a boy again four months ago, 
and I like it. How old are you?” Allan asked, 
passing Celia her cup. 

“ About six,” she answered. 

“Then I am ten.” 

“ Then you are too little for me to play with,” 
said Rosalind. “ How old are you, father ? ” 

“If Allan is ten I ought to be about sixteen, 
I suppose.” 

“ Here’s to the magician ! ” cried Allan, and 
they drank the cabinet-maker’s health right 
merrily. 

“ I drink to the ring which has come to its 
own again,” said Rosalind’s father; and so the 
fun went on. 


318 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


Celia forgot her shyness and was a happy 
little girl once more. 

“Let us drink to the Forest and all who have 
learned its secret,” she proposed. 

In the midst of it all, Miss Betty walked in. 

“ Well! ” she exclaimed, “ I think you might 
have asked me.” 

“ It isn’t too late. This is an impromptu affair 
in honor of Patterson,” said Allan, offering her 
a chair. 

“You have no idea what a noise you are 
making,” she said, greeting the stranger. “ I 
had just come in from a guild meeting, and the 
unusual illumination and the sounds of hilarity 
were too much for my curiosity.” Here her 
glance rested in evident surprise upon Celia. 

“ Celia has something to show you, Cousin 
Betty,” Allan said mercilessly, “and you are 
not to bother me about it any more.” 

Miss Betty went around to Celia and kissed 
her. “ It is what I have been hoping all along,” 
she whispered. 


CHAPTER THIRTIETH. 

OAK LEAVES. 

“Bid me farewell.” 

“ T HAVE something to tell you,” said Belle, 

A as the Arden Foresters walked up the hill 
toward the Gilpin place. 

“ So have I,” added Rosalind, “ something 
lovely,” and she waved a small package 
aloft. 

“ Is it something for us ? ” Katherine asked. 

“Let Belle tell hers first. Mine must wait 
till we get to the oak tree.” 

“ It is about the ring. I have found out how 
it came to be in the spinet,” Belle an¬ 
nounced. 

“ Really ? How ? ” 

“ Lucy Brown, Aunt Milly’s granddaughter, 
put it there,” she began, all eagerness to tell her 
news. “ Aunt Milly, you know, was Mr. Gilpin’s 


319 


320 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


cook, and Lucy had come in from the country 
to stay with her a few days, when he was 
taken ill. The morning he died she found the 
case with the ring in it under the library table, 
and she carried it into the drawing-room, where 
she was dusting, meaning to show it to her 
grandmother. Just as she had opened the 
spinet some one called to her to run for Dr. 
Fair, that Mr. Gilpin was dying, and in a 
great hurry she pushed the ring case under 
the strings and closed the lid and forgot all 
about it. She went home before anybody knew 
the ring was lost, and never thought of it again 
till she came to Friendship the other day and 
our Manda was telling her about the magician’s 
finding it.” 

“ I am almost sorry we know how it happened,” 
said Rosalind. “ I liked to think the magician 
had really broken the spell.” 

It was the last meeting of the Arden Foresters 
before Rosalind’s departure, and in spite of the 
wintry day they decided it must be held under 
the oak tree; and little cared they for the 
weather as they rustled through the fallen leaves 
beneath the bare brown trees. 


OAK LEAVES. 


321 

“I believe it is going to snow,” said Jack, 
turning up his collar. 

“ If you’ll stay we’ll take you coasting down 
the Gilpin hill,” Maurice added. 

“I am afraid if I waited it wouldn’t snow,” 
Rosalind answered, laughing. “ And now I have 
something to show you.” They had reached the 
arbor, and sitting down she opened the box she 
carried. 

“You know we have been wondering what we 
should do for badges when the leaves were gone. 
Just see what the president has sent!” and she 
displayed to their delighted gaze five small, 
enamelled oak leaves. 

If Dr. Hollingsworth was sensitive to com¬ 
pliments, his ears must have burned badly about 
this time. Belle summed them up by remarking, 
“I just believe he is almost the nicest man I 
ever knew.” 

They stood together under the oak tree, and 
Rosalind pinned on the new badges. “ Let’s 
promise to be friends, whatever happens,” she 
said, “because we know the Forest secret and 
have had such good times this summer.” 

The sun shone out brightly for a moment as 


322 


MR. PAT’S LITTLE GIRL. 


the wind swept over the hilltop, rattling the 
vines on Patricia’s Arbor; under the autumn sky 
the winding river sparkled as gayly as when its 
banks were green; on the far-away stretch of 
yellow road the wintry sunshine lay; and under 
the red oak they clasped hands and promised to 
be friends always. 


AUG 2 3 1902 










































































































































